The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

They say that man is migh­ty

He go­verns land and sea;

He wields a migh­ty scep­ter

O’er less­er pow­ers that be;

By a migh­ti­er power and stron­ger

Man from his throne is hurled

And the hand that rocks the cra­dle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of wo­man!

Angels guard its strength and grace

In the pal­ace

cot­tage

ho­vel

Oh

no mat­ter where the place!

Would that nev­er storms as­sailed it

Rainbows ev­er gent­ly curled;

For the hand that rocks the cra­dle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the ten­der fount­ain

Power may with beau­ty flow;

Mother’s first to guide the stream­lets

From them souls un­rest­ing grow;

Grow on for the good or ev­il

Sunshine streamed or dark­ness hurled;

For the hand that rocks the cra­dle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman

how di­vine your mis­sion

Here up­on our na­tal sod!

Keep

oh

keep the young heart op­en

Always to the breath of God!

All true tro­phies of the ag­es

Are from mo­ther-love im­pearled

For the hand that rocks the cra­dle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of wo­man!

Fathers

sons and daugh­ters cry

And the sac­red song is min­gled

With the wor­ship in the sky—

Mingles where no tem­pest dark­ens

Rainbows ev­er­more are curled;

For the hand that rocks the cra­dle

Is the hand that rules the world.