Gentle hands that never weary toiling in love's vineyard sweet,
Eyes that seem forever cheery when our eyes they chance to meet,
Tender, patient, brave, devoted, this is always mother's way,
Could her worth in gold be quoted as you think of her to-day?
There shall never be another quite so tender, quite so kind
As the patient little mother; nowhere on this earth you'll find
Her affection duplicated; none so proud if you are fine.
Could her worth be overstated? Not by any words of mine.
Death stood near the hour she bore us, agony was hers to know,
Yet she bravely faced it for us, smiling in her time of woe;
Down the years how oft we've tried her, often selfish, heedless, blind,
Yet with love alone to guide her she was never once unkind.
Vain are all our tributes to her if in words alone they dwell.
We must live the praises due her; there's no other way to tell
Gentle mother that we love her. Would you say, as you recall
All the patient service of her, you've been worthy of it all?