Slect Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XI, Issue 3636, 21 August 1880, Page 1

Sleet Poetry.

I TIRED MOTHSBS; > -«' \

A littlt elbow leans upon v*w knee, ''• ' Your tind knee, that has so much to hair; S A child's dsareres are looking lovingly , * : From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch ' '■'' Of warm, moist fingers folding yours to tight; } You do not prito thte blessing over-much, ->t-<ij<3£ You almoet are top tired to pray to-nigM J, l{ Bat it is blessedness! A year ago ' r -: I did not see it a* I do to-day- , ■* We are so dull and thankless; andtooslov-,> To catch the sunshine till it slips away. l * And now it seefns rarpauing strange to me, That, wnilo I bore the badge of motherhood, _ I did not Urn more oft, and tenderly, The little child that brought;me enly good. And if, some night when you sit down to net,' * ' You mm this elbow from your tired knee; This, restless, curling head from oS your breast, This lisping tongue that chatters constantly; If f rem your own the dimpled hands had sUws»i; And ne'er would nestle In your palm again ; If the white feet into their grave had tripped, I could not blame you for your heartache then. I wonder co that mothers eW fret, ■ '> ■ '"^ At little children Clinging to their gown; Or that the foot-prints, when the ( days aw wet, Are ever black enough to make them frown. If I could find a little muddy foot, Or cap, or jacket on my chasabar Boor; If I could leave a ronynrtlMß foot* And bear it patter in my house oace 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 worW wouM say "" She was more blissfully content than I. * s-*.-' But ah, the dainty pillow next my own > ' Is never rumpled By a shinning head; . , t Xysinring Mrdling from its nest is flown J The StUe boy I used to kiss is dead. - - "