From The Sun, February 1, 1914. By Ninette M. Lowater.
I am the mother of bearded men, and the names that I called them by
When I watched their sleep in their cradles, and hushed each tear and sigh,
Are known and spoken where men meet men, and life moves swift along,
For they do their share of the world’s work, and they are sure and strong.
Clear are their eyes and their glances kind, as when their years were few;
Deep voices call me mother, and the tones are gentle and true;
They give me love and honor, though they are wiser now than I,
But I think of the little children who slept in my arms and I sigh.
Oh, I could not hold them dearer, and I would not turn them back
To wander again through life’s thorny maze, and again to climb its track.
But when the lonely evening comes, and no one has need of me,
It’s Oh, for the little children who once leaned upon my knee!
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