Poetry: Somebody's Mother

Browsing the internet for something else I stumbled on this lovely piece of poetry. I’m not a great reader of poetry, but I suspect that might be because I have so many other things to read…. This one sounded very familiar to me though – I wonder if I’ve heard it before? The LDS General Conference? Anyway, when I do read poetry I enjoy it. 

I hope my sons will be as nice, compassionate young boys and men as the boy in this poem. Their Dad is certainly s good example and role model for them – and for me. Not wanting to loose these beautiful words, I thought I’d better post them here. Hopefully someone else might enjoy them as well.

"Old Woman Reading", by Cowan Dobson.

Somebody’s Mother

By Mary Dow Brine (1816-1913)

The woman was old and ragged and grey

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 eyes.

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 grey

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 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 grey,

When her own dear boy is far away.”

And “somebody’s mother” bowed 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!”