Mother's Hands
Dear gentle hands have stroked my hair
— And cooled my brow,
Soft hands that pressed me close
— And seemed to know somehow
Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts
— That cloud my day,
Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage
— And pass away.
No other balm for earthly pain
— Is half so sure,
No sweet caress so filled with love
— Nor half so pure,
No other soul so close akin that understands,
No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother's hands.
Dear gentle hands have stroked my hair
— And cooled my brow,
Soft hands that pressed me close
— And seemed to know somehow
Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts
— That cloud my day,
Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage
— And pass away.
No other balm for earthly pain
— Is half so sure,
No sweet caress so filled with love
— Nor half so pure,
No other soul so close akin that understands,
No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother's hands.
— And cooled my brow,
Soft hands that pressed me close
— And seemed to know somehow
Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts
— That cloud my day,
Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage
— And pass away.
No other balm for earthly pain
— Is half so sure,
No sweet caress so filled with love
— Nor half so pure,
No other soul so close akin that understands,
No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother's hands.
Dear gentle hands have stroked my hair
— And cooled my brow,
Soft hands that pressed me close
— And seemed to know somehow
Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts
— That cloud my day,
Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage
— And pass away.
No other balm for earthly pain
— Is half so sure,
No sweet caress so filled with love
— Nor half so pure,
No other soul so close akin that understands,
No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother's hands.
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