To be a prisoner's mother
Is to feel a piercing dart
That sets the mind a-whirling
And almost cleaves the heart.
To be a prisoner's mother
Is, upon a holiday,
To visit him in prison,
Then part and go away.
To be a prisoner's mother
'Tis, inside the lonely wall,
To say, "Farewell, my darling"—
Oh, I almost faint and fall.
No resting place but heaven,
No happy morn that dawns;
Our home so drear and lonely
Because our boy is gone.
An empty bed, a missing plate,
A grief that inward burns;