p. 172 | The Home Circle by F. J. D.

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 17, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 11.

The Home Circle.

By F. J. D.

MOTHERHOOD.

WHEN the tasks of the day are ended, And work is folded away, I sit by the window and study A picture over the way.

In a room with undrawn curtains A mother comes every night, And sits with a dimpled baby, In the softly flickering light.

The little one's chubby fingers Wander over her face, And it smiles, and cooes, and dances, With a sweet, unconscious grace.

I know the mother is saying Something tender and good, By the way in which she caresses This atom of babyhood.

Then, as the twilight deepens, The golden head sinks to rest, And a beautiful face bends over The sleeping child on her breast;

And my own sad heart is throbbing, Yearning with sudden pain, For a touch of the dainty fingers I never shall clasp again.

But I know the time is coming, At the end of earth's eventide, When hushed will be every longing, And mother-love satisfied.

So now I sit by the window, And take what comfort I may, Watching the dear little stranger In the firelight over the way. —F. J. D., in Christian Union.