My Children's Mother

I'm glad sometimes for what I've done,
And sometimes for the things I've been.
But most exciting of it all,
Is knowing...I'm the mother of ten.

For I wouldn't know how much my gain,
Or how it would turn out to be.
But when my figures were laid out straight,
I up and borrowed three.

With three little roosters I wouldn't know,
Without a baby at my breast.
Nor would I know the joy that comes,
When loving hands lift to caress.

I wouldn't know the upper pride,
Of fixing soft, beautiful curls.
Of sending them off to Sunday School,
On the head of my little girls.

I wouldn't know about boy ideas,
Or how the whittling goes.
If a whirl-i-gig hadn't sat on the fence,
To catch the wind when it blows.

O I wouldn't know the matter of girls,
And why they were stirring in tin.
If the cake that they baked stayed flat because,
No baking-powder had ever gone in.

I wouldn't know what God wanted of me,
Or the best part of life I should live.
Should I offer the high and honored things,
And how much to each must I give?

For I've never wished to be somebody else,
And draw a wage at the store.
I never wanted to laugh with a crowd,
And make my life such a bore.

This sacred trust that I have each day,
I wouldn't change for another.
For a joy comes to me in no other way,
By being...my children's Mother.


E.P. 1908 - 1989