TIRED MOTHERS.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 226, 19 September 1873, Page 2

TIRED MOTHERS.

A little elbow leans upon your knee, Your tired knee, that haa so much to bear; A eh Id's dear eyes ure looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. Ptrh-ips you do not heed the velvet touch (>f w.-irrn. moist fingers, holding yours co tight; You do not blame this blessing overmuch, You utmost arc too tired to pray to night. But it is blessedness ! A year ago I did not sea it as I do to-day — We are so dull, and .rninkbss; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips awny. And now it ssoms surpassing strange tn me, That, while I wore ths indge of motherhood, I did not kiss mor° oft snd tenderly The little child that brought nis only good. And if some night when yoa sit down to rest You mis? this elbow from your tired kn c; This restless curling head from off your brnist; This lisping tongue that chatters constantly; If from your own the dimpled hatds had slipped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again, If the white ftet into their grave had tripped, I could not blame you for your heartache then. I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging at their gown; Or that the footprints, when the days ar.-! wet, Are ever black enough to make them frown. If I could find a little muddy boot, Or cup or jacket on my cham'er floor; If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, And hear it patter in my house once more. If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky — There is no woman in God's world could say She was more blissfully content thun I, But, ah ! tho dainty pillow next my own Is never rumple! by a shining head; My singing birdling from its nest is flown; The dttle boy I used to kbs is dead ! Mas. Albert Sane?.