And when I see those o'er whom long years have rolled, Whose hearts have grown hardened, whose spirits are cold; Be it woman all fallen, or man all defiled, A voice whispers sadly: It is some mother's child.
No matter how far from right she hath strayed; No matter what inroad dishonor hath made; No matter what elements cankered the pearl; Though tarnished and sullied, she is some mother's girl.
No matter how deep he is sunken in sin; No matter how much he is shunned by his kin; No matter how low is his standard of joy; Though guilty and loathsome; he is some mother's boy.
That head hath been pillowed on tenderest breast; That form hath been wept o'er, those lips have been pressed; That soul hath been prayed for in tones sweet and mild; For her sake deal gently with some mother's child.
Used by permission of Charlie D. Tillman, owner of copyright.
Just Tell My Mother.
'Twas in a Gospel Mission, in a distant western town, The meeting there that night had just begun, When in came a poor lost sinner who by sin had been cast down, Thinking perhaps that he might have some fun; But as he heard of Jesus' love, of pardon full and free, He sought it and the wanderer ceased to roam. And going to his room that night, his heart all filled with joy, He wrote a letter to the folks at home.
Chorus.
Just tell my dear old mother, my wandering days are o'er, Just tell her that my sins are all forgiven, Just tell her that if on earth we chance to meet no more, Her prayers are answered and we'll meet in Heaven.
His mother got the message as she lay at death's dark door, Which told her of her boy so far away, How his sins were all forgiven and wandering days were o'er, And that his feet were on the narrow way. Her heart was filled with gladness, as it had not been for years, Her dear old face was all lit up with joy, As on her dying pillow she said amid her tears, God bless and keep my precious darling boy.