When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye And wept, for fear that I should die? Who ran to help me when I fell And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the part to make it well? And I can ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee Who wast so very kind to me, Oh no, the thought I cannot bear; And if God please my life to spare I hope I shall reward thy care, My Mother. (adapted from poem "My Mother" by Jane Taylor)
