 | Morning Glories : |  |
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
What sacrifice so great!
No hour too early, or too late,
No isle too distant, shore or strand,
She may not reach with earnest heart, and willing hand.
No hour too early, or too late,
No isle too distant, shore or strand,
She may not reach with earnest heart, and willing hand.
What love so strong!
It is her child, or right or wrong,
In crowded court of justice, if condemn'd,
Her love and tearful eyes doth still defend.
What love so pure!
Friendship oft is false, but one is sure
That mother's love clings to us to the last,
Wherever in life our varied lot is cast.
It is her child, or right or wrong,
In crowded court of justice, if condemn'd,
Her love and tearful eyes doth still defend.
What love so pure!
Friendship oft is false, but one is sure
That mother's love clings to us to the last,
Wherever in life our varied lot is cast.
| Morning Glories : | |