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    Somebody's Mother by Mary Down Brine

    The woman was old and ragged and gray
    And bent with the chill of the winter's day.
    The street was wet with a recent snow
    And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
    She stood at the crossing and waited long
    Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
    Of human beings who passed her by
    Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
    Down the street, with laughter and shout,
    Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"
    Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
    Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
    Past the woman so old and gray
    Hastened the children on their way.
    Nor offered a helping hand to her-
    So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
    Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
    Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
    At last came the merry troop,
    The happiest laddie of all the group;
    He paused beside her and whispered low,
    "I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."
    Her aged hand on his strong arm
    She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
    He guided the trembling feet along,
    Proud that his own were firm and strong.
    Then back again to his friends he went,
    His young heart happy and well content.
    "She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
    For all she's aged and poor and slow,
    "And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
    To help my mother you understand,
    "If ever she's poor and old and gray,
    When her own dear boy is far away."
    And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
    In her home that night, and the prayer she said
    Was "God be kind to the noble boy,
    Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"

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