Friday, February 20, 2015

Mother reduced to ashes


A mother was kind and gentle and true,
Had three little angels; oh, how they grew;
With dimples and curls, and contagious smiles;
Were fat and chubby; at play they ran miles.
They were healthy and happy and winsome, too;
Were the loveliest darlings this mother knew.

This charming mother was a willing slave.
Her three from disease she fought to save.
She toiled all day and nursed all night,
And put up for them a terrific fight
Through the help of God and by her care,
He raised them up in answer to prayer.

With mother’s help they grew mature;
Men and maiden were taught to be pure.
The three all married and moved away,
With the promise to return some better day.
Mother became lonely and rather poor.
She rented a room on a Rue Lefleur.

Her form was stooped, her face was drawn,
Her hair was grey and her children gone,
She fainted one day while on the street,
And could stand no more upon her feet.
That saintly mother, with a love so true,
Was left alone to battle it through.

She was weak and sick with none to care,
Not even a friend to say a prayer.
But God’s angels came and took her home,
That forsaken woman, so sad and alone.
This mother, who was once a willing slave,
Was denied the favor of an earthly grave.

The one-time dimpled and angelic three
Were now cold and cruel, as you will see;
For they ordered her body reduced to ashes--
The cheapest disposal, the burial of asses.
A pagan ordeal, so godless and cruel;
Don’t treat your mother as you would a mule!

I found this poem in a tract about burial and cremation -- Cremation and the Bible by Ralph Blake

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