Bless the hand that rocks the cradle,
Fear the hand that does it wrong,
As we see her raise her children,
Caring not where they belong.

Little children love their mothers,
Doing what they have been told,
Always trusting without question,
Caring not how things unfold.

Mothers form and mold their children,
To be adults they should be,
But if mothers are not careful,
Many problems they will see.

Bless the hand that rocks the cradle,
Praise the hand that does it right,
Children are a gift from Heaven,
Blameless in our Saviour's sight.

May her children call her 'Bless-ed',
As was Mary, long ago,
May they know their mother's kindness,
And her virtues ever show.

Bless the hand that rocks the cradle,
Praise the hand that does it well,
May her children be protected,
So in all things they excel.