Chim Việt Cành Nam [ Trở Về ] [ Trang Chủ ]
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throngOf human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.Nor offered a helping hand to her –
So meek, so timid, afraid to stirLest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content."She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,"If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."And "somebody’s mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she saidWas, "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!"MARY DOW BRINE
A Builder builded a temple,
He wrought it with grace and skill;
Pillars and groins and arches
All fashioned to work his will.
Men said, as they saw its beauty,
"It shall never know decay;
Great is thy skill, O Builder!
Thy fame shall endure for aye."A Mother builded a temple
With loving and infinite care,
Planning each arch with patience,
Laying each stone with prayer.
None praised her unceasing efforts,
None knew of her wondrous plan,
For the temple the Mother builded
Was unseen by the eyes of man.Gone is the Builder's temple,
Crumpled into the dust;
Low lies each stately pillar,
Food for consuming rust.
But the temple the Mother builded
Will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple
Was a child's immortal soul.HATTIE VOSE HALL
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