Somebody's Mother
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and
slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited
long,
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,'
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children
on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses'
feet
Should crowd her down
in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all
the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, 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 old and grey,
And her own
dear boy is far away."
"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!"