Bringing Pretty Blossoms to Strew on Mother's Grave.
Copyright, 1881, by W. F. Shaw.
Mother, dear, I'm weary, there's sorrow in my heart,
And from my heavy eyelids the tears unbidden start,
As 'neath the hawthorn shadow, down by the silver stream,
I sit again and ponder o'er childhood's happy dream;
But gone are all its pleasures, I'm happy now no more,
Since thou art taken from me beyond the silent shore;
How well do I remember the parting kiss you gave,
As now with brightest flowers I strew thy lonely grave.
Bringing pretty blossoms to strew on mother's grave,
How well do I remember the parting kiss she gave;
But while my heart with sorrow is throbbing, oh, so wild,
I know her angel spirit is watching o'er her child.
Soon these flowers will wither, their fragrance disappear,
But still my heart will cherish a love for mother dear;
And when the coming seasons bring back their precious blown.
Should I be spared, I'll scatter fresh blossoms on her tomb;
The daisy from the meadow, the sweet wild mountain rose.
The modest little pansy that in the woodland grows,
I'll bring in all their beauty, and, oh, what joy 'twill be,
To know that up in heaven my mother watches me.-Chorus.