A HYMN FOR MOTHERS IN WARTIME.
Cyuntless boys who tight and fall; Oh, believe He knows them all! Oh, believe His hand can reach, W ith a special gift to eac h ! Countless stars in heaven's blue frame; Everyone He calls by name, Every sparrow’s fall He sees: Are our heroes less than these? Wounded falls your darling? Halm He sends down, and strength and calm. Killed? He tat s him from the strife To the cverlast ng life. Missing? He knows where, and heeds, (lives him just the help he needs. Can he f stay beyond his bound In whose love the lost is found? Prisoner? He can break the bond. Mother, will you yet despond? Love, ’mid millions, keeps your son As he w ere the only one; Keeps him still, alive or dead. Count the hairs upon his head. This His message, sent to you; This, in life or death, is true. —S. (I. Ford, in “London Dailc News.’
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/WHIRIB19170219.2.35
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White Ribbon, Volume 22, Issue 260, 19 February 1917, Page 15
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162A HYMN FOR MOTHERS IN WARTIME. White Ribbon, Volume 22, Issue 260, 19 February 1917, Page 15
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