My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss, <br />I feel its impress now; <br />As in the bright and happy days <br />She pressed it on my brow. <br /> <br />You say it is a fancied thing <br />Within my memory fraught; <br />To me it has a sacred place- <br />The treasure house of thought. <br /> <br />Again, I feel her fingers glide <br />Amid my clustering hair; <br />I see the love-light in her eyes, <br />When all my life was fair. <br /> <br />Again, I hear her gentle voice <br />In warning or in love. <br />How precious was the faith that taught <br />My soul of things above. <br /> <br />The music of her voice is stilled, <br />Her lips are paled in death. <br />As precious pearls I'll clasp her words <br />Until my latest breath. <br /> <br />The world has scattered round my path <br />Honor and wealth and fame; <br />But naught so precious as the thoughts <br />That gather round her name. <br /> <br />And friends have placed upon my brow <br />The laurels of renown; <br />But she first taught me how to wear <br />My manhood as a crown. <br /> <br />My hair is silvered o'er with age, <br />I'm longing to depart; <br />To clasp again my mother's hand, <br />And be a child at heart. <br /> <br />To roam with her the glory-land <br />Where saints and angels greet; <br />To cast our crowns with songs of love <br />At our Redeemer's feet.<br /><br />Frances Ellen Watkins Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-mother-s-kiss-2/
