Forsake not the law of thy mother. Proverbs 1:8
Words: Charles J. Butler, 1894–97.
When a lad, just after the death of my mother, in company with some gay companions, I strayed into a gilded saloon; I had only been there a short time when I seemed to see the face of my mother, and the thought came to me, what would she think if she saw me there? I quickly resolved to leave the place, and soon found my way to the house of prayer, and I sought and found my mother’s God.
On memory’s wall engraven stands
My mother’s precious face;
Time’s rude and ever busy hands
Naught from it can erase.
My mother’s face, her precious face,
In memory lives today;
Time’s hand some pictures may erase,
Her face ne’er fades away.
The clouds from sorrow’s dreary night
Oft o’er face would drift;
But faith, which shone so clear and bright,
Those sable clouds would lift.
I saw her face in death grow cold,
I saw it laid away;
But yet methinks I still behold,
That same sweet face today.
When in the haunts of sin I strayed,
Lo! mother’s face was there;
That look made gilded pleasures fade,
I sought the house of prayer.
Some day within yon gates of gold,
Thro’ grace my feet shall stand;
There mother’s face I will behold,
Amid the blood washed band.