The Mother At Home Poem by Janet Hamilton

A voice deep and solemn is sounding abroad;
Oh mothers of Britain! each humble abode
Should echo the burden with which it is fraught-
Our children, they must be instructed and taught.


Oh mothers of Scotland! I call you by name,
I bid you arise and rescue your fair fame;
Let your eyes trickle down like a fountain of tears,
For young ones neglected through crime-shrouded years.


Oh poor peasant mother-Oh working man's wife!
Your child's food and clothing, his health and his life
Should be toiled for, and cared for, as only a part
Of your duty; Oh culture his mind and his heart!


Your cares are full many, your leisure is small,
But the souls of your babes are more precious than all;
While you toil with your hands you should watch, teach, and pray,
For where there's a will there is ever a way!


Oh mothers! your prayers, instructions, and rules,
With the voice of the teacher, and lore of the schools,
Should ever be joined, and when faithfully given,
You may hope, you may trust, in the blessing of Heaven.


The statesman, the patriot, the Christian, have found-
Though grants, schools, and teachers increase and abound-
For juvenile ignorance and vice there must come,
Best help, truest cure, from the Mother at Home.