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- 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 throng
- Of human beings who passed her by
- Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.
- 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 stir
- Lest 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 said
- Was "God be kind to the noble boy,
- Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"
- Mabel Down (Northam) Brine
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