Dying Mother, The

print

On a cold winter’s eve as the snowflakes were falling
In a low humble cottage a poor mother lay
Although wracked with pain as she lay there contented
With her Savior, her Friend and peace with Him made

   We will all meet again on that great Judgment morning
   The books will be open, the roll will be called
   Oh how sad it will be if forever we’re parted
   While some rise to Glory while others stand the Fall

Oh that mother of yours has gone o’er the river
And you promised you’d meet her while knelt by her bed
As the death sweat rolled off and fell down on her pillow
Oh, her mem’ry still lives although she is dead

You remember the kiss and the last words she uttered
Oh the arms that embraced you are with you no more
As you stand by her grave teardrops fall on her casket
And you vowed there to meet her on that happy shore