Being a mother is a labor
of love_
God must have sent her from
above.
She strives to keep the home
fires burning,
While inside she puts away
her secret yearnings.
Her hands are calloused, her
hair speckled with gray’
Yet she still manages to
get through another day.
If we had our way, her dress
would be of silver thread,
A golden crown upon her head.
The day has to come when she
can labor no more,
Then God will open His golden
door.
She will have passed her
earthly test,
He’ll grant to her His
heavenly rest.
By
Mary S. Hymel
Copyright © 1972-2001
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
To copy or reprint any of
the poems on this or any
of my websites without
written permission is a
violation of copyright laws.
Song~Mother
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