My Mother’s Face

On me­mo­ry’s wall en­grav­en stands

My mo­ther’s pre­cious face;

Time’s rude and ev­er bu­sy hands

Naught from it can erase.

My mo­ther’s face

her pre­cious face

In me­mo­ry lives to­day;

Time’s hand some pic­tures may erase

Her face ne’er fades away.

The clouds from sor­row’s drea­ry night

Oft o’er her face would drift;

But faith

which shone so clear and bright

Those sa­ble clouds would lift.

I saw her face in death grow cold

I saw it laid away;

But yet me­thinks I still be­hold

That same sweet face to­day.

When in the haunts of sin I strayed

Lo! mother’s face was there;

That look made gild­ed plea­sures fade

I sought the house of pray­er.

Some day with­in yon gates of gold

Thro’ grace my feet shall stand;

There mo­ther’s face I will be­hold

Amid the blood washed band.