A PICTURE memory brings to me: 

I look across the years and see 

Myself beside my mother's knee.

I feel her gentle hand restrain

My selfish moods, and know again

A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.

But wiser now, a man gray grown,

My childhood's needs are better known,

My mother's chastening love I own.

Gray grown, but in our Father's sight 

A child still groping for the light, 

To read his ways and works aright.

I bow myself before his hand;

That pain itself for good was planned

I trust, but cannot understand.

I fondly dream its needs must be; 

That as my mother dealt with me 

So with his children dealeth He.

I wait, and trust the end will prove 

That here and there, below, above, 

The chastening heals, the pain is love! 

John O. Whittier.