Tears of a Mother

O weavers of life, behold this diamond— Strong and bright, pure and radiant. She held the key to life in trembling hands; Her trial, a furnace of refining flame. Yet she stood unbroken— And the fire found her not wanting. Her journey sang a symphony of pain, Yet like a lamb, she stood in peace. Her sweetness was blood, And uneven was the burden she bore. In a fair-night, she gave birth to a gem, And her joy was full. The twilight of morning's break was her offspring— Wrapped in the warmth of everlasting love. And tears of peace ran through her eyes. Her countenance shone, radiant and bright. O weavers of life, a victorious diamond once walked here. In the memory stones of men, her name is etched. O Theresah, mother of peace— Thy struggle was great, Yet thou laid thy life to furnish a gem. How can I forget? O, how shall I make my struggles The cleanser of my hope? I will always sing of thee— O diamond pure, Thrilled by sacrifice. And I, too, shall give my life for thee. Hear me, O mother. I know this gem Has become an ill-begotten son, But praise will I ever sing. You took me in thine arms, And cared for me. Thy heart was broken— Because of me. But wholly thine will I be.