It brought the unaccustomed tear,
A mother’s hand was on my head,
Her voice was thrilling in mine ear.
Old memories waked that long had slept,
They forced the spirit’s brazen crust;
I wept and prayed, I prayed and wept,
Till anguish ripened into trust.
Blest be the hands that reared thy dome
The wandering seaman’s step to greet;
Guiding the homeless to a home,