A Mother’s Prayer

This is my hour of anguish, Lord! My son is dead—I couldn’t afford To lose him from my side! Must war’s cruel hand reach out to me, To make me writhe in agony And almost doubt Thy Grace? Oh comfort, comfort me, my God! As fruit of womb ‘neath foreign sod, Lies buried far from home! My blue star now has turned to gold: I’m weary, bent, alone and old, Oh make me see Thy Plan! Thou say’st that we shall meet again, And all Thy way will then be plain? Let me live for that day! Death,...