At home or away,
In the alley or street,
Wherever I chance
In this wide world to meet
A girl that is thoughtless,
Or a boy that is wild,
My heart echoes softly,
It is some mother’s child.
Some mother’s child,
Some mother’s child
My heart echoes softly,
It is some mother’s child.

And when I see those
O’er whom long years have rolled,
Whose hearts have grown hardened,
Whose spirits are cold,
Be it woman all fallen,
Or man all defiled,
A voice whispers sadly,
It is some mother’s child.
Some mother’s child,
Some mother’s child
A voice whispers sadly,
It is some mother’s child.

No matter how deep
He is sunken in sin,
No matter how much
He is shunned by his kin,
No matter how foul
Is the fountain of his joy,
Tho’ guilty and loathsome,
He is some mother’s boy.
Some mother’s boy,
Some mother’s boy,
Tho’ guilty and loathsome,
He is some mother’s boy.

That head hath been pillowed
On tenderest breast,
That form hath been wept o’er,
Those lips have been pressed,
That soul hath been prayed for
In tones sweet and mild,
For her sake deal gently
With some mother’s child.
Some mother’s child,
Some mother’s child.
For her sake deal gently
With some mother’s child.