1 Sometimes, in the hush of the evening hour,
When the long shadows creep from the west,
Do I think of the lullaby songs you sang,
And the boy that you lulled to rest;
The wee little boy with the tousled head,
That so long, long ago was thine;
I wonder if sometimes you long for that boy,
O little mother of mine,
O little mother of mine.

2 And now he has come into man’s estate,
He is stalwart in body, and strong;
And you hardly would know that he was the lad
Whom you lulled with your slumber song;
The years have so altered the form and life,
But his heart is unchanged by time;
For still he is only the boy as of old,
O little mother of mine,
O little mother of mine.

3 It comes to me like ‘twas but yesterday—
Even yet I can feel your embrace—
That I told you goodbye, as I went away,
With the tears streaming down your face.
Now long you have slept where the roses bloom,
But the memory is divine;
And some happy day I shall meet you again,
O little mother of mine,
O little mother of mine.