“The Mother’s Saturday Night”
We recently discovered this wonderful little poem in our Archives, and couldn’t wait to share it with you!
Unfortunately, as was sometimes the case in the early days of the magazine, there was no author attributed to it.
But we’re sure they would be happy to think that readers in the 21st century were still enjoying their work!
Placing the little hats all in a row,
Ready for church on the morrow you know;
Washing wee faces and little black fists,
Getting them ready and fit to be kissed;
Putting them into clean garments and white —
That is what mothers are doing to-night.
Spying out holes in the little worn hose,
Laying by shoes that are word through the toes;
Looking o’er garments so faded and thin —
Who but a mother knows how to begin?
Changing a button to make it look right —
That is what mothers are doing to-night.
Calling the little ones all round her chair,
Hearing them lisp forth their sweet evening prayer;
Telling them over that story of old,
How the dear Lord would gather the lambs to His fold
Watching, they listen with childish delight —
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 blankets ’round each little form;
Kissing each little face, rosy and bright —
That is what mothers are doing to-night.
Kneeling down gently beside the white bed,
Lowly and meekly she bows down her head,
Praying, as only a mother can pray —
“God, guard and keep the, from going astray.”
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