Mother and Father Poems

MOTHER AND FATHER POEMS Mother For mother who loves us so dearly, Who cheerfully gives us her all, Let's do what we can to repay her — The best we can do is too small. She does all she can to assist us In living our best every day; She constantly guards us with kindness, And guides us along the right way. Her kind, patient heart beats so warmly With love that will never be less. She tenderly, hopefully watches, And gives us an anxious caress. No matter what heights we may climb to, Nor into what depths we may fall, Her mantle of love and forgiveness Envelopes and pardons us all. So let us remember the mother. Who nourished the life we possess, Do nothing to cast a dark shadow O'er mother's supreme happiness. Layton, Utah. L. M. HALL. Denied Motherhood Not to those who have wilfully denied themselves the privelege of Motherhood, but to that faithful band of women, who, like Hannah of old, have supplicated the Lord for children, but who, unlike her, have not been granted their holy desire, let us give reverence. Theirs has been a life of hoping, fervent pleading, and patient waiting; theirs has been a deep and heartfelt sacrifice. For the sincere Motherhood in their hearts, let us greet them Mothers. To these, this little tribute and poem are lovingly dedicated. Task's completed; To lone orphans And a noble mother-heart is still. Was her deep devotion freely given, Mother-heart, I say, Night and day. Though she never knew the joy And no task was found too great, Of a baby girl or boy Nor the hours too long to wait, Of her own. To give aid. Just how much her soul has yearned In the realms beyond the years, For that love, no one has learned . May through her love, her prayers and But God alone. tears, Amends be made. Magrath, Canada j j Maude B. Rasmussen

MOTHER AND FATHER POEMS 667 Daddy 'Tis your birthday today, Dad; I'm thinking of you, Tho' I'm not there to tell you my thoughts, Or to give you my wishes, or help bring you joy, I know you won't say, "He forgot." You're older today, Dad; the years passing by Add care, as is shown on your brow — You've struggled to help me, I've caused you much pain — I can see what you've done for me now. Yes, I'm thinking of Mother today, as are you, How she's suffered and worried for me. But as Mother has suffered, you Daddy have toiled — You, dear Father, and dear Mother, she. I'm glad, you've helped me. The thoughts you have given Are chiseled in me as in stone. I'm happy to think of the blessings I've had, Given freely by you, dear, alone. Today, Dad, I hope someone cheers you along; That you'll have joy and happiness, too; I hope you'll have many bright birthdays to come — I thank Cod for a father like you. Providence, Utah. E. CARVEL CAMPBELL. Dearest Pal of Pals We love to speak of Mother, because we love her best, But still we love another who bravely stands the test. He's Man of Men! A soldier! So brave and true is he, There's nothing he wouldn't shoulder, to clothe and shelter me. I call him "Dear old Daddy," and true, he's dear to me. For next to Mother always, comes Father, don't you see? But what about us children, did we not take his gold, His heart, his love and kindness, and help him to grow old? All that, and more! I'll answer, it rings within my ears, But how can we repay him — with gold, or burning tears? Oh no! No pay's sufficient, not even worlds of gold: For all his youth we've taken; and, friends, he's growing old. Yet, if by him in childhood, we always did what's right, He calls those dreams his fortune, and wills to us that light. But if we did not help him through the storms and wrecking waves — That debt rolls on forever! E'en while we're in our graves. For only dear old Daddy can know what he has done, To keep a home from hunger. To save us — every one. But after all we leave him to work and fight his way, And guard our dear old Mother until the judgment day.

668 IMPROVEMENT ERA All this he sees with sorrow, and it may bring him pain; But if you fall tomorrow, he'll take you home again. So if you love your Mother, the dearest gal of gals, I know you'll find your Daddy, the dearest pal of pals. Magrath, Aha, Canada. JOSEPH WILLIAM R.EECE. Play With Them He was a boy, a wee small lad: With smiling eyes and ruddy face, A towsled, frowsled, boisterous tad; The kind you find most any place. He used to pass my shop each morn; A lunch pail clasped in his small hand, A book or two beneath his arm — You know the type throughout the land. A cheery lad with bold bright eyes The kind that loves to do and dare; So young and foolish, yet so wise; The kind of lad found everywhere. You say he robbed a bank! Ah no! Not Joe McCay, the Blacksmith's lad? Why surely not! Don't say 'tis so! A little wild but not that bad. Now, that will sure go hard with Jim, A good hard working honest sort. Day after day he's toiled for him — "To give young Joe a proper start." What's that you say: "The same old tale, Father a stranger to his boy." "Joe's idle, leisure time sent him to jail, And wrecked his father's pride and joy." Oh, men, when will you ever see That minutes make the hour — the day. That what your boys will finally be Is what they think and act and play. He was a boy, a wee small lad. With smiling eyes and ruddy face, A stranger to his busy dad, Allowed to run most any place. Preston, Idaho. O. E. HOWELL, Bov Scout Executive.