1 I ought to love my mother:
She loved me long ago;
There is on earth no other
That ever loved me so.
When a weak babe, much trial
I cause her, and much care;
For me no self-denial,
Nor labor did she spare.

2 When in my cradle lying,
Or on her loving breast,
She gently hush'd my crying,
And rock'd her babe to rest;
When any thing has ail'd me,
To her I told my grief;
Her fond love never fail'd me
In finding some relief.

3 What sight is that which, near me,
Makes home a happy place,
And has such power to cheer me!--
It is my mother's face.
What sound is that which ever
Makes my young heart rejoice
With tones that tire me never?--
It is my mother's voice.

4 When she is ill, to tend her
My daily care shall be:
Such help as I can render
Will all be joy to me.
Though I can ne'er repay her
For all her tender care,
I will honor and obey her
While God our lives shall spare.