Show RS or OUR sad and weary mothers women past your prime plants whose bloom Is withered touched with silver rime who have seen your little sons grow to sf stalwart alwart men and can never hold a baby in your arms again how shall you be comforted when I 1 they say goodby all of them to suffer and some of them to die once there was a mother of a son that died blessed among women though she saw him crucified hers had been the sorrow his the shameful death had he stayed at home with her in qu quiet let nazareth mary in the sun dial |