By Albert W. Mathews
O! Mother dear, In those far off lands,
Do you ever think of me?
Do you ever pray with uplifted hands,
That better your boy might be?
Sometimes, dear Mother, I seem to feel,
As I sit in my room so cold,
A gentle caress of your angel hands,
And around me you white wings fold.
O! Mother dear, look down tonight,
If such a thing can be,
And guide the steps of your boy aright,
In better paths, that you can see.
You knew my heart when I was young,
That heart is the same as then,
So Mother dear, tonight so come,
And cheer me if you can.
Sent in by Mrs T. F.