Print This Page#00351 Print This Page
An Irish boy was leaving, leaving his own native home,
Crossing the broad Atlantic, once more he wished to roam;
And as he was leaving his mother, while standing on the quay,
She threw her arms around his neck and these were the words she said:
A mother's love's a blessing, no matter where you roam,
Keep her while she's living, you'll miss her when she's gone;
Love her as in childhood, though feeble, old and grey,
For you'll never miss your mother when she's buried beneath the clay.
And as the years go onward, I'll settle down in life,
I'll find a nice young Irish girl, and make her my sweet wife;
And as the kids grow older and climb around my knee,
I'll teach them the very same lesson that my mother once taught to me.
A mother's love's a blessing, no matter where you roam,
Keep her while she's living, you'll miss her when she's gone;
Love her as in childhood, though feeble, old and grey,
For you'll never miss your mother when she's buried beneath the
clay.
