Weather-marked and stained;
The hand of time had crumbled it,
So only part remained.
Upon one side I could just trace
"In memory of our mother";
An epitaph which spoke of home
Was chiseled on the other.
I've gazed on monuments of fame,
High towering to the skies;
I've seen the sculptured marble stone
Where a great hero lies;
But by this epitaph I paused
And read it o'er and o'er,
For I had never seen inscribed
Such words as these before.
"She always made home happy."
What a noble record left;
A legacy of memory sweet
To those she loved bereft;
And what a testimony given
By those who knew her best,
Engraven on this plain rude stone
That marked their mother's rest.
So then was stilled her weary heart,
Folded her hands so white,
And she was carried from the home
She'd always made so bright.
Her children raised a monument
That money could not buy,
As witness of a noble life,
Whose record is on high.
A noble life, but written not
In any book of fame;
Among the list of noted ones
None ever saw her name;
For only her own household knew
The victories she had won,
And none but they could testify
How well her work was done.
Author unknown
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