Poems (Grossman)/On Mother's Birthday, 1915

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4642103Poems — On Mother's Birthday, 1915Ethel B. Grossman
ON MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY
I

On this, your birthday, Mother dear,
My heart doth overflow for you;
My love has been instilled so deep,
No love can be more pure and true.

II

Thou has't been my idol, Mother,
In the past, now, and for aye!
None could live up to thy standard,—
For thy happiness, I pray.

III

Thou, who art a child of Heaven,—
Picked and chosen from the rest,—
God bestowed on you, my Mother,
Gifts—the rarest and the best.

IV

See how Fortune blest the children
That were born, dear, unto thee;
Gave to them the jewel of Heaven,
Fairest gem of earth and sea.

V

Thou has't wondrous heart and soul!
Tho' some say that "Love is blind,"
Thine's a perfect, flawless, nature—
None, in thee, a fault could find.

VI

Do not think this idle chatter,
These words are sincere and true;
Mother, thou art pure and noble,
Nothing's good enough for you.

VII

May you have, on this, your birthday,
Happiness and endless bliss;
May I give you, as a climax,
Congratulations—and a kiss!

December 6, 1915.