The rain it patters outside in the dark
The mourning mother bows her head to weep
And wanders, lonely, through the soaking park.
The memories of mothers never fade
They have to learn to live with sacred loss
And learn to smile a little in the shade
And learn to carry the most heavy cross.
Yet though it's hard there has to be a light
A glimmer that fills up the darkest space
And fills the dreams of those who love at night
With hope that they will once more see the face
Of those that they have lost but still adore
And that they'll meet upon God's golden shore.