Show oui FASHIONED HoT nans think god diya a correspondent some of us hive au old fishio ned moth ei not a woman of the period enameled ind painted nth her greit chignon hei curls and bustle whose whito aled hands never felt the alap or bab encis hn cis but a dear old fashioned sweet voiced mother with eyes in whose clear depth the love liht phone and brown hair just tin with silver lying smooth upon her faded cheek chose deal bianas lianas worn with toil gen aly our totting sapps in childhood and smoothed our pillow in sickness avei reached out to us in yearn lag tenderness ble sed is the memory of an old fashioned mother it floated to us now like the beautiful perfume wooded blossom tho music i of other voices may bo loot but tho eu memory oi her will echo ia our souls other voices may adje aay and ae but his will shine ou when in the fitful kajs lifo our foet wander baal to tho old homestead and crossing the well worn Ihie hold stand once more in the room so hallowed by hai presence how the feeling of childhood innocent and cornea 0 er u and we kneel down in the molten sunshine streaming stream inc through tho opa window conr ago we knelt nv our mothers knee how many time tho tempter lured us on his thai nemory of alose hours that mother s words her eiith and prayers saved faoa is ato the deep abers of tin beir have filled gibat datta between her and us but they luve not hidden from rura fish loe |