Beautiful mother is busy all day, br So busy she neither can sing nor say; br But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, br Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go- br Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, br Weaving a royal, rich content. br br When night is come, and her children sleep, br Beautiful mother her watch doth keep; br With glowing stars in her dusky hair br Down she sits to her music rare; br And her instrument that never fails, br Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales.