EVENING was falling cold and dark, 

And people hurried along the way, 

As if they were longing soon to mark 

Their own home cradle's cheering ray. 

Before me toiled in the whirling wind 

A woman, with bundles great and small, 

And after her lagged, a step behind, 

The bundle she loved the best of all. 

A dear little roly-poly boy, 

With rosy cheeks, and jacket blue, 

Laughing and chattering, full of joy; 

And here's what he said—I tell you true: 

"You're the goodest mother that ever was." 

A voice as clear as a forest bird's; 

And I'm sure the glad young heart had cause 

To utter the sweet of the loving words. 

Perhaps the woman had worked all day, 

Washing or scrubbing; perhaps she sewed; 

I knew by the weary footfall's way, 

That life for her was an uphill road. 

But here was a comfort; children dear, 

Think what a comfort you might give 

To the very best friend you can have here, 

The lady fair in whose house you live, 

If once in awhile you'd stop and say, 

In task or play for a moment's pause, 

And tell her in sweet and winning way, 

"You're the goodest mother that ever was." 

M. E. Sangster.