p. 268 | The Home Circle by Congregationalist

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 6, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 17.

The Home Circle.

By Congregationalist

MOTHER'S WAY OF RESTING.

I often marvel why it was I gave so little thought To all the helpful lessons which My patient mother taught. Now, older grown, and she has gone, I often long to tell Her how they all come back to me, Each one remembered well; For in the work and cares of life That come from day to day, I find I stop to ask myself, "What was my mother's way?"

There never seemed to be with her A drudgery of life; She got along so quietly With all its cares and strife. She always sang about her work, And, 'mid perplexing things, The farm-house walls re-echoed, "Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings." I never hear old "Amsterdam" But that I think how oft It bore my mother's soul from earth To unseen things aloft.

When, sitting in her rocking-chair, Her lap with mending piled, She used to say, "I want to rest, Now read a psalm, my child." I learned by heart about "the hills" And "lifting up my eyes;" Those "pastures green" and "waters still" The Shepherd's love supplies; And all about "abiding 'neath The shadow of his wing;" For "God our refuge is, our strength," I read in everything.

Sometimes I hurried through the psalm, Sometimes I gave good heed, And then her thanks, so kindly said, Encouraged me to read Some of the words that Jesus spoke, For that was mother's way— To read from psalms and Gospels both Upon the busiest day; Those blessed truths so restful! How glad I am each day That my mother's way of resting Was such a helpful way! —Congregationalist.