Amanda Lowman Bartholomew.

 
_________ 
 

MY MOTHER.

 
______ 
 
A simple parsonage^__plain and brown^__
Where ivies rambled up and down 
      With sweet-brier roses. 
A place the earliest sunbeams kissed, 
Nor left till shadowed by the mist 
      The night uncloses. 
 
'Twas here she wrought, with patient care 
A life whose incense filled the air 
      With gladness only; 
Here heard her call to enter rest, 
And left the home a broken nest, 
      Bereft and lonely. 
 
To children's hearts, and hearts grown strong 
With anguish, 'tis a lesson long, 
And sad the learning: 
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