She knew the hours for this and that She knew the parish too;

And those who never went to Mass, And those who did, she knew.

She lay in wait for wagging tongues, Yes, yes, her own was keen,

Lord help the one who dared complain In front of Mary Sheehan.

Now I lay me down to sleep Quite free from earthly cares, My soul to seek its just reward, Has climbed the golden stairs.

And as I walk the golden streets

In the distance have I seen;

Far up in Heaven the place reserved For good old Mary Sheehan.

YOUR MOTHER

Who was your friend of your cradle days? Who was so kind — so true,

And all the while, with a song or a smile, She busied the days — for you.

Who was so patient from year to year?

Who came to banish each childish fear?

Who heard the story, and dried the tear?

Your Mother.

Whose heart was lashed to those restless feet And must follow each step they take? Could not but hope —_ a prayer repeat Yet, whose was the heart — to break? Who would be near, should you rise or fall? Who was to harken — to hear your call? Who understood — and forgave you all? Your Mother.

Who often smiles, lest a tear should start, When the troubles of life beset?

Who gives the love from her hungry Heart, The love we so oft’ forget?

Who never falters —- ‘tho friends may fail 7

Who is your courage when foes assail ?

Who keeps her faith ——-to the end of the trail?

Your Mother.

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