The Picture of My Mother
Through many a year a picture dear
Hung just above my bed;
It plainly showed a shady road
That, curving gently, led
Past shrub and tree, till I could see.
Beside a blossoming vine,
My mother stand, as once she stood
When she was young, and I was good.
In days all sun and shine.
I saw her there, so sweet and fair.
When I drove off to school;
I knew the bliss of her fond kiss
On that deep porch and cool;
And every night the blessed sight
Of her above my bed
Consoled me for the boyish woes
Of absence - comforted I rose
When my brief prayer was said.
The change and strife of later life.
The years that leave me gray,
Have taken, too, that pictured view;
But cannot take away
The memory so dear to me.
That fond and wistful joy:
There stands my home, and mother's there.
So young, so good, so sweet and fair.
And I'm her little boy.
Oliver Marble
