somebody's mother

                                     somebody's mother

                                                                       -MARY DOW BRINE

            

The woman was old and ragged and grey,

And bent with the chill of a winter's day;

The street was wet with the recent snow,

And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited jong

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by,

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

 

Down the street with laughter and shout,

Glad in  the freedom of school let out.

Come the boys like a flock of sheep

Hailing the snow . Piled white and deep.

 

Past the woman so old and grey,

Hastened the children on their way :

Nor offered helping hand to her,

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir :

Lest he carriage wheels or the horse's feet 

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

 

AT last came one of the merry troop,

The gayest laddie of all the group,

He paused beside her, and whispered low;

'I' ll help you across, if you wish to go.

 

Her aged hand on his strong young arm 

She placed, and so. without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were firm and strong.

 

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

'She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,

For all she's aged and poor and slow,

And i hope some fellow will lend a hand,   

  To help my mother,. you understand,

If ever she's poor and grey,

When her own dear boy is away.'

And somebody's mother bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said 

 was : 'god be kind to the noble boy

Who is somebody's son and pride and joy !'