NO MOTHER

She has no mother! What a volume of sorrowful truth is comprised in that single sentence – no mother! We must go far down the hard, rough paths of life, and become inured to care and sorrow in their sternest form before we can take home to our experience the dreadful reality – no mother – without a struggle. But when it is said of a frail young girl, just passing from childhood toward the life of a woman, how sad is the story summed up in that one short sentence! Who shall administer the needed counsel? Who shall bear with the errors and failings of the motherless girl? Deal gently with the child. Let not the cup of sorrow be overfilled by the harshness of your bearing, or your unsympathising coldness. Is she heedless in her doings? Is she careless in her movements? Remember, oh remember, she has no mother! When her companions are gay and joyous, does she sit sorrowing? Does she pass a down-cast eye and languid step, when you would fain witness the gushing of youth? Chide her not, for she is motherless; and the great sorrow comes down upon her soul. Can you gain her confidence – can you win her love? Come, then, to the motherless, with the boon of your tenderest care; and by the memory of your mother already passed away – by the possibility that your own child may be motherless – contribute as far as you may to relieve the loss of that child who is written “motherless”.