MOTHER by HENRY CHAPPELL

THERE'S a hand so firm and tender
As it holds the cords of home,
And guides each wayward footstep,
That heedless yearns to roam;
That smoothes the roughest places,
And stills the childish fears;
Is ever there to help the play
Or dry the rainbow-tears.

There's a voice that makes the darkness
Of the little bedroom light;
All the bogies fly its music
And the nasty dreams take fright,
As it tells of shining angels
Who watch the whole night long,
Till the sun peeps thro' the lattice
And the lark begins his song.

There's a heart so true and steadfast,
That save the one above,
No tongue can tell its pity,
No words describe its love.
If youth forgets, or hair be grey,
Whate'er the cause or smart,
Each hasty, unkind word you say
Is burnt in Mother's heart.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...