This poem blessed and encouraged me many a time when my children were small; I couldn’t read the whole thing through without shedding a tear. Happy Mother’s Day!
Mother’s Sheaves author unknown
Some say that my life is so narrow, Environed by four square walls; And ever across my threshold The shadow of duty falls. My eyes wander oft to the hilltops, But my heart ever stoops down With passion and love for my babies Who, helpless, cling to my gown.
In the light of each new day dawning, I see an evangelical stand; And to fields that are ripe for the harvest, I am lured by a beckoning hand. But I have a small part with the reapers, Small place in the soul-stirring strife; I must care for the babes at my fireside And teach them the lessons of life.
I must answer their eager questions, From childhood to early youth; I must lead them in paths of wisdom And guide them in ways of truth; I must nourish their souls and their bodies With untiring, watchful care, Take thought for “the loaves and the fishes,” And the garments which they must wear.
But at night when the lessons are ended And the last little prayer is said, When the questions are asked and answered And I’ve cuddled each sleepy head; When the nameless unrest has vanished That has troubled my heart through the day I will kneel in the midst of my children And humbly and thankfully pray:
“Dear Lord, when I come with the reapers To Thee at the set of the sun; When the sheaves of the harvest are garnered, And life and its d are done, I will lay at Thy feet these, my children— To my heart and my garments they cling; Though I might not go forth with the reapers, These—these are the sheaves that I bring.”