Bright little fairy tales...

 Bright little fairy tales...

There was a place in childhood that I
remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright
fairy tales did tell;
And gentle words and fond embrace were
given with joy to me
When I was in that happy place, upon my
mother's knee.

When fairy tales were ended, "Good night,"
she softly said.
And kissed, and laid me down to sleep within
my tiny bed;
And holy words she taught me there - me-
thinks I yet can see
Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my
mother's knee.

In the sickness of my childhood, the perils
of my prime,
The sorrows of my riper years, the cares of
every time;
When doubt and danger weighed me down,
then pleading all for me.
It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent
my mother's knee.

Samuel Lover

Soft and Low

 Soft and Low

Mother, crooning soft and low,
Let not all thy fancies go,
Like swift birds, to the blue skies
Of thy darling's happy eyes.

Count thy baby's curls for beads,
As a sweet saint intercedes;
But on some fair ringlet's gold
Let a tender prayer be told

For the mother, all alone,
Who for singing maketh moan,
Who doth ever vainly seek
Dimpled arms and velvet cheek.

Mary Frances Butts

Singing Mother To Sleep

 Singing Mother to Sleep

Back and forth in a rocker,
Lost in revery deep.
The mother rocked while trying
To sing the baby to sleep.

The baby began a-crowing.
For silent he couldn't keep -
And after awhile the baby
Had crowed his mother to sleep.

Richard Kendall Munkittrick

The Voice of My Mother

The Voice of My Mother

The voices of the Loved and Lost are
stirring at my heart,
And memory's misered treasures leap to
life, with sudden start -

Thou art looking, smiling on me, as thou
hast looked and smiled. Mother,
And I am sitting at thy side, at heart a very
child. Mother!

I'm with thee now in soul, sweet Mother,
much as in those hours,
When all my wealth was in thy love, and in
the birds and flowers.

And by these holy yearnings, by these eyes
sweet tears wet,
I know there wells a spring of love through
all my being yet.

Gerald Massey 

The picture of my mother...

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

To My Mother

 TO MY MOTHER

A MOTHER heard our infant cries,
 And folded us with fond embrace,
And when we woke, our infant eyes
Were opened on a mother's face.

Our wishes she did make her own.
Her bosom fed and pillowed too.
Answering each start or fitful moan
With trembling pulses fond and true.

Then knowledge was a thing untaught:
Heaven's charity, a daily dole.
Stole in inaudibly, and wrought
Its gentle bonds about the soul.

by Charles Tennyson Turner

Easter Lily

 

EASTER LILY

I wish I was a lily white,
Growing in the grass,
I'd have a message for each one,
That by my side did pass.
I'd say, "Look up into the sky
And think of God above,
He sent His Son to die for us,
Because of His great love."

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