Born of pure love is every mother’s child;

No cradling arms were yet more soft and warm;

No greater hope than in her gentle smile—

To see her tears, no feelings more forlorn.

Of mortal essence stands no stronger bond,

No greater sacrifice of heart and soul

That one life yield until her breath be gone

So her dear brood might flourish in this world.

In all our triumphs, there we see her face;

In all our sadness, still she comforts there;

Quintessential caring, infinite grace

To guide us through both gladness and despair.

By Mother’s love, we walk no path alone—

And where she bides is ever our sweet home.