THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER.
She stands alone, wrapt in the mantle of her pride;
Her Soul, a living flame of whitehot love;
Her Heart, a place of desolation, where the great tide
Of long, hideous with fear, forever moves
In waves of anguish through the long, dark nights,
Only within the mirror of her eyes we see
The silent agony of one who fights
Against the dreadful thought of what may be.
For Courage rises in her, free and strong,
That Spartan spirit garnered from the past;
And thankfulness for bearing such a Son
To crown her Motherhood with joy so vast.
Thus she bears her Woman's part,
Praising her God with all her might
For gift so precious as that brave young heart
Who counts his life as naught beside the cause of right
Where craven fear has no abiding place
And chivalry and knightly deeds abound.
From mothers such as this our noble race
Springs forth in splendid manhood, round
Which the glory of old England sheds her grace. -Lalla Gerahty.
