Classic Poem

She drew the grey shawl round her head;
" Sure it is bitter cold, " she said;
" An' is there news of him , asthore? "
God help the mothers of the world!

" I do be prayin' to mesel'
The Lord may keep him safe and well
An' bring him back to his mother's door. "
God help the mothers of the world!

" The lambs are perished wid the storm.
God keep his darlin' head from harm!
It's well for her has ne'er a one! "
God help the mothers of the world!

And as I went my way I heard
Her call like a lamenting bird:
" I used to fret that had no son. "
God help the mothers of the world!