• Author: Unknown
• Editor:
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 5 8 1918
• Tags:
• poetry
• mothers

MOTHER’S DAY, MAY, 12, 1218

For a day, or for an hour, You may wear a snow-white flower, On your breast; For the one, who all-forgiving, Whether dead, or whether living, Loves you best. Who believed when others doubted; Praised you still, when others flouted; Knew the good that others scouted; Stood the test. Yours a debt too great for payment: Love is more than food, or raiment; This she gave. What’s the flower that you’re wearing, To the sorrow that she’s bearing, To the grave? Since in travail first she bore you; She has fought such battles for you; Never ceased her watching o’er you; Quick to save. What’s the recompense you’re giving? Just a flower for the living, For the dead. Tho you wear a flower forever; You could thus repay her, never; Wear instead: In your heart the will to be good, Bear life’s ills, and smile—as she would; Win you back the joys of childhood, That have fled.