You bear them yet, this progeny,
     These little ones you bore.
And, oh, how changed your mothering
     Since you were twenty-four.

You once were carried on the wings
     Of hope and expectations,
And now you carry in your soul
     The weight of generations.

But you have learned whose back can bear
     The heaviness of years,
And I have seen you load his back,
     And soak his robes with tears.

No mother ever touched his robe
     And met disdain or jest;
And heavy generations yet
     Will rise and call you bless’d.