~ A Tribute To Lillian McClocklin ~

The old woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent 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 eyes.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of school let out.
Came the boys, like a flock of sheep;
Scattering the snow piled white and deep.

Past the old woman so old and gray
Hastened the youngsters on their way,
Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So weak, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crush her down in the crowded street.

At last came one of the merry troop-
The gayest laddie of all the group-
Who paused beside her, and whispered low
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."

She lifted her tired eyes to meet
The pitying glance of his brown eyes, sweet,
As her aged hand on his strong arm
She placed. And so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
With the steady step of his own, so strong.

Then back again to his mates he went,
His young heart happy and well content,
"For she's somebody's Mother, boys, you know,
For all she 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,
And her own dear boy perhaps far away."

And "Somebody's Mother" bow'd low her head
In her home that night, and prayer she said
Was - "God be kind to the stranger lad,
Whose heart can pity the old and sad;
And guide and lead till life's journey is done,
The kindly boy who is Someone's Son."