The woman was old and ragged and grey
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The stree 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 being 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,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and grey
Hastened the childen on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her-
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last come one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;
He paused beside her and whisperd low,
'I'll help you cross, 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 friendshe 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 even she's poor and old and grey,
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