SOMEBODY'S MOTHER

The woman was old, and ragged and gray

 And bent with the chill of the winter day;

The street was wet with the 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 that passed her by,

Not heeding .the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laugh and shout,

Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,

Finding the snow piled white and deep.

Past the old woman, so old and gray,

Hastened the children on their way,

Nor offering a helping hand to her,

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,

He paused beside her and whispered low,

"I'll help you across, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and without hurt or harm

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet

Should crowd her down in the slippery street;

At last came out of the merry troop

The gayest laddie of all the group.

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 her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, "God be kind to that noble boy

Who was somebody's son, and pride, and joy."

Selected.