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,