MORE THAN A MOTHER'S LOVE.
By J. O. Beard
O, TENDER the throb of a mother's warm breast
As she softly caresses the babe in her arms;
And how earnestly she, in this world of unrest,
In its helplessness shields it and calms its alarms. With what rapturous joy does that fond mother's heart
Watch that bud of her life, in its sweetness, unfold;
Its innocent prattle and each childish art
Are priceless to her, yea, more precious than gold. How enduring a true mother's love, and how strong,
There is none in this world but a mother may know;
Tho her child wander far, into paths that are wrong,
Yet her prayers ever follow where'er he may go Tho the world may despise him and cast out his name,
Tho his hands may drip red from the deeds he has done,
Yet the love of her sad, broken heart is the same;
Every throb of that heart softly says, “He's my son.” Be thou glad, sinful soul, at the message I bring
Of a love that exceeds e'en a mother's fond love;
'Tis the message, to thee, that on swift angel wing
Was sent down to this earth, from our Father above. “I have loved with a love everlasting,” says He,
“On the palms of My hands have I graven thy name;”
“Tho the love of a mother may fail her, ‘Yet thee I will never forsake,’ I am ever the same.” “With such love have I loved that My Son I have sent—
Mine only begotten, the Son of My love—
And with Him all the riches of heaven I’ve spent
That the depths of My love unto thee I might prove.” And the light from God's throne flooded Bethlehem's plain,
While the shepherds with rapture the glad tidings heard;
And the angels' grand anthem, with sweetest refrain,
Rolled upward to heaven in praise of their Lord. Trust that love, sinful soul, cast thyself on His care;
He to thee will give cleansing and pardon and peace;
He will make thee than gold from old Ophir more fair,
And will take thee where sin shall forevermore cease. Trust that love, and thy soul shall be flooded with light
Like the shepherds that watched on far Bethlehem's slope;
And the song of God's love that entranced them that night
Shall entrance thee, and thrill thee, and fill thee with hope. Fort Dodge, Iowa. J. O. BEARD.