Mothers of Mercy

By Helen May Talmage

Cupped in their quiet hands they hold relief
For those bowed down with sorrow, pain or grief,
For those whose tired feet have weary grown
Trudging through life, unaided and alone.
Into the sick-room shadowed with despair
They go, these willing ones, with faith and prayer.
They carry comfort sweet, and peace and calm,
‘Tis theirs to offer Gilead’s own balm.
Through endless service gladly, freely given,
‘This theirs to bring to earth a glimpse of heaven.
They ask no recompense throughout the years
Save words of thankfulness or grateful tears
From those they serve. All honour to them then,
Mothers of mercy, working among men.

(1925)