Of her gentle hand, as she softly spoke:

"Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry;

What evil can harm thee, with mother nigh?"

Mother! Mother!

Long years have passed, and the fevered brow

Of a bearded man, she is stroking now,

As through delirium and pain

He cries as a little child, again.

And the mother answered, with loving stroke

Of her careworn hand, as she softly spoke:

"Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry;

What evil can harm thee, with mother nigh?"

Mother! Mother!

Still time rolls on, and an old man stands

Trembling on life's declining sands;

As memory bridges the flood of years

He cries as a child, with childish tears;

And memory answers, with loving stroke

Of a vanished hand, and an echo spoke:

"Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry;

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