Seleted Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 3154, 29 March 1873, Page 2

Seleted Poetry.

SATURDAY NIGHT.

Placing the little hats all in a row, Ready for church on the morrow, you know; Washing woo faces and little black fists, Getting them ready and fit to be kissed ; _ Putting fheiu intg clean garments and white That is what mothers are dpipg tp : fiiglit. ►Spying out holes in the little worn hose, Laying by shoes that are worn through the

toes; Looking o’er garments so faded and thin, Who but a mother knows where to begin ? Changing a button to make it look right;— That is what mothers are doing to-night. Chilling her little ones all round her chair, Hearing them lisp forth their soft evening

prayer; Telling them stories of Jesus of old, Who loves to gather the lambs to his fold; Watching, they listen with childish delight j That is what mothers are doing to-night. Creeping so softly, to take a last peep, After the little ones all are asleep ; Anxious to know if the children are warm, Tucking the blanket round each little form ; Kissing each little face, rosyand bright; That is what mothers arc doing to-night. Kneeling down gently beside the white bed, Lowly and meekly she bows down her head; Fraying, as only a mother can pray—- “ God guide and keep them from going astray. ”