A MOTHER’S SMILE.
Though a mother may seem void of beauty,
Her tongue have no art to beguile,
To her children there’s nothing so lovely
As her face when bright with a smile.
When they wake from the slumbers of childhood,
And gaze on the world, half afraid,
If they see mother’s face bending o’er them,
Their swift-starting fears are allayed.
To their fingers her cheek is the softest,
Though care may have hardened its lines,
And their bruises are healed by her kisses,
From lips on which age has its signs.
She’s a comrade to share in their pastimes,
A refuge if dangers betide,
There is always a comfort in troubles,
A haven of peace at her side.
Oh, ye mothers, smile oft on your children,
For blest is the woman whose face,
Once impressed on these hearts in their childhood,
Nor distance nor time can efface.
And more happy the man or the woman,
Immersed in the world’s snare and wile,
Who bears upon memory’s tablets
The thought of a mother’s fond smile.