A poem

A Mother's Life-Work

My work at home lies with the olive branches

Thou'st planted there,

To train them meekly for the heavenly garden

Needs all my care.

I may not in the woods and on the mountains

Seek Thy lost sheep;

At home a little flock of tender lambkins

'Tis mine to keep.

Thou givest to thy servants each his life-work;

No trumpet tone

Will tell the nations in triumphant pealing

How mine was done.

But 'twill be much, if, when the task is ended,

 Through grace from Thee,

 I give Thee back, undimmed, the radiant jewels

Thou gavest me.

Anonymous