SOMEBODY'S MOTHER

Sometimes we think the little things don't matter, but they matter in a big way!  Eighteen years ago, my son Gabriel gave a talk in church when he was ten years old. He prepared the talk by himself and didn't mention the topic. I'm certain he thinks I have forgotten completely about it over the years, but I didn't and I never will. I still have the original copy tucked away in my favorite memorabilia, and it means as much to me today, as it did the day it was given. 

His talk was on the responsibility we have to be kind to those around us.  He concluded with the poem, Somebody's Mother.  In this poem, dimensions of kindness come from every angle. I was touched that my son had the depth to understand its powerful meaning. 

   

                        Somebody's Mother

 

    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 eyes.

    

    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 one of the merry troop,
    The gayest 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 young 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!"

               By, Mary Dow Brine (1816-1913)