ever hold sacred the love of his mother.
Tho’ the years may have turned her tresses to gray,
And the rose from her cheek may have faded away,
Tho’ her step, once so light, may have feebled with age,
And her eyes may have grown too dim for the page,
Tho’ the hand that was once so dainty and fair,
May have changed with the seasons of toiling and care,
Tho’ the voice that to youth and it’s freedom belongs,
May have lost all its sweetness for lullaby songs,
Yet the years that shall make the dear mother grow old,
Will but add to her nature a blessing untold;—
Tho’ they rob her of youth, she retains, as a prize,
A love more mature and a counsel more wise.
Tho’ her life lose it’s sunshine and burdens oppress,
Yet the love of the mother will never be less;
Tho’ her children may wander away from the fold,
And the world shuts them out in the darkness and cold,
Tho’ their friends may prove faithless and sin may allure,
Yet of mother’s true love they can ever be sure.
Tho’ to far away lands they may wilfully roam,
The fond mother’s prayer will be guiding them home.
If they climb to the height of honor and fame,
They should whisper, in credit, the dear mother name.
Her love inspires all that is noble and good,
And Purity reigneth o’er sweet mother-hood.
Tho’ the great word applaud, the praise of another
Is nothing compared with the praises of mother.
The earth home is dreary, when she is away,
Her presence adds sunshine to each changing day,
And Heaven, in it’s glory, will be the more fair,
When the spirit of mother shall find entrance there.
HIDDEN TREASURES
Beneath the waves of ocean blue,
The precious pearls are lost from view;
Within the darkness of the mine,
The gold and uncut diamonds shine;
From human sight beneath the sky,
The little seeds in waiting lie.
Within the mind, like pearls of white,
Some hidden thoughts await the light;
Which, brightly polished, shall outshine
The varied treasures of the mine;
And like the seeds that wake to flowers,
Shall bless and brighten all life’s hours.
IN LIFE AND DEATH
I see her smile in sleep
And to her crib I creep
To kiss the baby face where dimples play;
I smooth her sunny hair
And breathe to God a prayer
That He will teach me how to lead the way.
I see her smile in sleep
And to her couch I creep
To kiss the saintly face where peace doth stay;
I smooth her silvery hair
And breathe to God a prayer
That He will teach me how to find the way.
PROGRESS
He, who to elevate himself
Labors with earnest will,
Forgets, that should he wisely try
To elevate the minds near by
And public needs to fill,
Will still continue to advance
And while their cause he does enhance
Will be their teacher still.
ONLY A LITTLE FELLOW
He was only a little fellow
With a very plain little face
And his teacher said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan never can keep his place.”
He was only a little fellow
With a mouth neither rosy nor sweet
And his father said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan always is under my feet.”
He was only a little fellow
With eyes neither brilliant nor gay
And his mother said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan always is in my way.”
He was only a little fellow
With a little turned up nose
And his sister said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan must keep away from my beaux.”
He was only a little fellow
With tumbled apron and hair
And his brother said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan is out of place in there.”
He was only a little fellow
But at last there came a day
When every one said,
With a shake of the head:
“Dan never was in the way.”
He was only a little fellow
Yet the neighbors came in to weep
While the baby face,
In a rose-decked place,
Was calm in eternal sleep.
He was only a little fellow
Who left his books and his play;
At the Saviour’s call,
Where there’s room for all,
He will never more be in the way.
UNDER THE PINES
Under the pines, on a summer’s day,
I list to a whisper from far away,
And, lying low, with my half-closed eyes,
Behold the beauty of fairer skies.
Some say ’tis the sound of the sighing sea,
Whose distant murmer steals over me;
Some say ’tis the baby breeze instead,
That rocks in the branches overhead;
But I know it is neither wave nor breeze,
On shining sands and in leafy trees;
’Tis the music sweet of a voice divine,
That whispers peace to each pensive pine.
PRAYER
Pray