A poem by Alice Hawthorne in praise of mothers…
by, Alice Hawthorn
What is home without a mother?
What are all the living joys we meet
When her loving smile no longer
Greets the coming of our feet?
The days seem long, the nights seem drear,
And time rolls slowly on,
And, Oh! how few are childhood’s pleasures
When her gentle care is gone.
Things we prize are first to vanish,
Hearts we love to pass away;
And how soon, e’en in our childhood,
We behold her turning gray;
Her eye grows dim, her step is slow;
Her joys of earth are past;
And sometimes ere we learn to know her,
She hath breathed on earth her last.
Older hearts may have their sorrows,
Griefs that quickly die away,
But a mother lost from day to day;
We miss her kind, her willing hand,
Her fond and honest care;
And, oh, how dark is life around us!
What is home without her care?
…let us look to our mother’s while we have them,
Until next time,