A memory

Each night beside my bed

My mother sang so tenderly and low,

While I with snuggling head

Floated away on slumber's quiet flow, --

There are no songs like hers of long ago.

Each night until I slept

A little while beside my bed she stayed;

And then away she crept

While through the fields of wonderland I strayed.

There are no prayers like those my mother prayed.