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 tired, 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 laddie 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 gray,
When her own dear boy is far 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!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Mother Casts Her Dreams into the Sea 
Nicholas Gordon

A mother casts her dreams into the sea;
We, the words sent bobbing towards the sun,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy. 
Because she must conclude her melody
And fall back to the sweet dark hush of One,
A mother casts her dreams into the sea, 

Hoping to cross that wild infinity
And on some infant shore again to run,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy 

Outside the fiery circle of memory,
The howling surf, the incessant years undone …
A mother casts her dreams into the sea 

And then dissolves into a tapestry,
Her rolling, helpless drift again begun,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy 

Afloat once more upon eternity,
Once more the alien fury, never done …
Again, again, her dreams into the sea,
The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Mother 
Jane Taylor 

Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest, 
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My mother. 

When sleep forsook my open eye, 
Who was it sung sweet lullaby 
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My mother. 

Who sat and watched my infant head 
When sleeping in my cradle bed, 
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother. 

When pain and sickness made me cry, 
Who gazed upon my heavy eye 
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My mother. 

Who ran to help me when I fell 
And would some pretty story tell, 
Or kiss the part to make it well?
My mother. 

Who taught my infant lips to pray, 
To love God's holy word and day, 
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My mother. 

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me,-
My mother 

Oh no, the thought I cannot bear; 
And if God please my life to spare 
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My mother. 

When thou art feeble, old and gray, 
My healthy arm shall be thy stay, 
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother 

Ans when I see thee hang thy head, 
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, 
And tears of sweet affection shed,-
My mother.