Mother’s

We are prone to think of Mothers,
As a person old and gray
Bent beneath long years of worries
As she lingers, through each day.

With her footsteps, slow and faltering
And her eyes now growing dim
She has passed her days of working
Now she sits and hums a hymn.

But in thinking of a mother
Young and beautiful and gay
Her heart is filled with laughter
While she’s busy all the day

There is work for every moment
From early morn till late at night
Fixing breakfast, washing dishes
Sitting everything to right.

Can’t you just hear her in the kitchen?
Singing, “Jesus Saviour Pilot Me”
And we seem to catch a vision
“Listen” “Over life’s tempestuous Sea.”

Now it’s time to feed the baby
Precious bundle sent from heaven
What a tiny, helpless, blessing
To her loving arms was given.

Then there is the older mother
With the tear stains on her face
Saying goodbye to her soldier boy
As he’s called to fill his place

As we try to chose the right one
To place a crown upon her brow
Our hearts are over flowing
And we can’t make the choice somehow.

So we pass along the choosing
To you, and you, and others
As we bow our hearts in reverence
And thank God who gave us Mothers.


– by Calista Gregg Jones