They're neither white nor small; 不白，也不娇小，

　　And you, I know, would scarcely think, 我知道，你很少想到，

　　That they are fair at all. 你的手，叙述朴实无华之道。

　　I've looked on hands whose form and hue, A sculptor's dream might be; 我端详，那手的形态色泽，或许激起，雕塑家艺术灵感，

　　Yet are those aged, wrinkled hands, More beautiful to me. 尽管，干枯羸弱皱纹满布，只需一眼，就将我彻底击倒

　　Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 如此美丽的双手！

　　Though heart were weary and sad, 虽然，心里盛满疲惫哀伤，

　　Those patient hands kept toiling on, 每天渴望，孩子们醉心微笑，

　　That the children might be glad. 日夜操劳，忍受生活的痛楚，

　　I always weep, as, looking back, 时常回首，我总会无声恸哭，

　　To childhood's distant day, 一幕幕，那煎熬的锥心刺骨，

　　I think how those hands rested not, 当年我，尽情地奔跑玩耍，

　　When mine were at their play. 从未想到，妈妈的千辛万苦。

　　Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 如此美丽的双手！

　　They're growing feeble now, 那双手，  衰老已不堪入目，

　　For time and pain have left their mark, 逝水流年，留下岁月屐痕，

　　On hands and heart and brow. 亲情难舍，远去的晨钟暮鼓，

　　Alas! alas! the nearing time, 唉！越来越近的最后撒手，

　　And the sad, sad day to me, 我的心，那么悲痛欲绝，

　　When 'neath the daisies, out of sight, 雏菊花下，消失了你佝偻身影，

　　These hands will folded be. 所有思念，竟敌不过一抔黄土。

　　But oh! beyond this shadow land, 哦，越过死亡阴影，

　　Where all is bright and fair, 抵达最后的光明彼岸，

　　I know full well these dear old hands, Will palms of victory bear; 我感叹，那苍老怜爱的双手，掬起母亲，一生的悲欢离愁；

　　Where crystal streams through endless years, 人世间，那个于我最特别的人，

　　Flow over golden sands, 流泻出，母性的庸常感动，

　　And where the old grow young again, 恍惚中，倏然穿越漫长时光，

　　I'll clasp my mother's hands. 我依然，紧紧扣住母亲的双手。