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postsy. THE SON TO HIS MOTHER. J Thrre was a place, in childhood, That I remember well, And. there a voice, of sweetest tor e, Bright fairy tales did tell; And gentle words and fond embrace s. T Were given with joy to me, When I was in that happy place, Upon my lllorher'3 kUte. When fairy tntes were ended, "Good night!" she softly said, And kissed, and laid me down to sleep, Within my tiny bed; And holy words s he taught me there— Methinks I yet can see Her angel eyes, as close I knelt Beside my mother's knee. In the sickness of my childhood, The perils of my prime, .< The sorrows of my riper years, The cares of every time When doubt or danger weighed me down, Then pleading all for me. It was a fervent prayer to Heaven, That bent my mother's knee. And can I this remember, And e'er forget to prove The glow of holy gratitude— The fulness of my love. When thou art feeble, mother, Come. rest thy arm un me, And let thy cherished child support The aged mother's knee.

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