THE woman was old and ragged and gray 

And bent with the chill of the winter's day;

The street was wet with the falling snow, 

And the woman's feet were aged and slow

She stood at the crossing and waited long, 

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of Human beings who passed her by, 

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street, with laughter and shout, 

Glad in the freedom of "school is out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep, 

Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray 

Hastened the children on their way,

Nor offered a helping hand to her, 

So meek, so timid, so afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage-wheels or the horses' feet 

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop, 

The gayest laddie of all the group:

He paused beside her and whispered low, 

"I'll help you across If you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm 

She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along, 

Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went, 

His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, 

For all she's aged and poor and slow;

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand 

To help my mother you understand,

"If ever she's poor and old and gray, 

When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head 

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, "God be kind to the noble boy,

Who is somebody's son and pride and joy."