My Good, Old-Fashioned Mother.
By Mrs. S. T. Perry
They brought home the portrait last night to me;
On the parlor walls it is hung.
I gave to the artist a picture small,
Which was taken when she was young.
It's true to life—and there's a look in the eyes
I never saw in another,
And the same sweet smile that she always wore—
'Tis my good, old-fashioned mother. The hair in the picture is wavy and dark,
'Twas taken before she was gray;
And the same short curls, at the side, hang down,
For she always wore it that way.
Her hand on the Bible easily rests,
As when, with sisters and brother,
I knelt at her knee, reciting my verse,
To my good, old-fashioned mother. Her dress it is plain and quite out of style,
Not a puff or ruffle is there;
And no jewels or gold glitter and shine—
She never had any to wear.
Ambition for wealth or love of display,
We could not even discover,
For poor in spirit and humble in heart,
Was my good, old-fashioned mother. Her life was crowded with work and with care—
How did she accomplish it all!
I do not remember she ever complained,
And yet she was slender and small.
Motives of life that were selfish or wrong,
With Christian grace did she smother,
And lived for her God and the loved ones at home—
My true, good, old-fashioned mother. The years of her life were only threescore,
When the messenger whispered, low,
“The Master has come and calleth for thee,”
She answered, “I'm ready to go.”
I gaze alone on her portrait to-night,
And more than ever I love her,
And I thank the Lord that he gave to me
Such a good, old-fashioned mother.
—Mrs. S. T. Perry.