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The Mother

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Oct 28, 1915

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 92, No. 53.

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The Mother

By Mabel Stevens Freer

SHE never touched, with skillful brush the canvas, And left a picture that the world might praise; Or, with inspired fingers on the key- board, Sent down an echo through the length of days; But once, with eyes tear-stained, yet looking upward, With smiling lips she passed beneath the rod, Descending almost to the vale of shadows, To bring a little newborn soul from God.
She never sang a song of joy or sadness, In clear, sweet tones, to make us smile or weep; Her voice, too weak to win the world's approval, Was only good to hush a babe to sleep. She never penned a book whose glowing pages Might lift us up and help us in the fight; But day by day she sought, with loving patience, To guide two little stumbling feet aright.
—Mabel Stevens Freer.