When my fond mother wash’d my face,
And combed my flaxen hair,
And started me in learning’s race,
And breath’d to heav’n a silent prayer,
That I might grow to man’s estate,
And cultivate my opening mind;
And not be rich or wise or great,
But gentle, true and good and kind.
My mother’s face, I see it yet,
That thoughtful face, with eyes of blue,
I trust I never shall forget
Her words of counsel, sage and true.
She left me, when she pass’d away,
More than a royal legacy,
I would not for a monarch’s sway,
Exchange the things she gave to me.
She gave me naught of sordid wealth,
But that which wealth can never be,
Her iron frame and robust health,
Are more than diadems to me.
She left to me the azure sky,
With all its countless orbs of light,
Which wonder-strike the thoughtful eye,
And beautify the dome of night.
The deep blue sea from shore to shore,
The boundless rays of solar light,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roar—
I hold them all in my own right.
And lastly that there be no lack,
Of any good thing by her given,
She left to me the shining track,
Which led her footsteps up to heaven.