When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away.
My Mother.
And when I see thee hang thy head,
’Twill be my turn to watch thy bed.
And tears of sweet affection shed,
My Mother.
For God, who lives above the skies,
Would look with vengeance in His eyes,
If I should ever dare despise
My Mother.