My mother, just one year gas slipped away since you left us, but we have missed you more than we can tell. Not to get the letters we were so eager to get, and the looking forward to the time we might most again soon; but we are finding comfort in the hope of that meeting where there will be no parting, no more heart aches, no more tears. We are finding comfort in Him you taught us to love and call upon when we were small, and feel, too, that mother's prayers have followed us the whole world through. And reverentially and lovingly, too, we remember the Godly father that went home 43 years ago, and through your prayers, and his, mother, we are "following on,": by the grace of God.

These lines, with the following poem, lovingly dedicated to the memory of our dear mother, Mrs. P. R. Clevenger, by her daughter, Mrs. Myrtle Robbins. Mother passed away March 9, 1921; father, March 28, 1879.

MOTHER.

I saw her endeavor with stately grace
Train youthful feet to tread life's pace
With love beams shining o'er her face--
My mother.

I saw her robed in her womanly prime
leading her chicks toward paths sublime,
In childish pranks she saw no crime--
Dear mother.

I saw her teach my lips to pray
And breathe approval o'er my way.
Who kissed the wound got in life's fray--
But mother?

I saw her beside the couch of pain
Administering angel with soothing reign,
Smothered all thoughts of self or gain--
True mother.

I saw her nourish the sick and poor
With friendly chat their courage lure
And strew their path with love's royal cure--
Loved mother.

I saw her labors of heart and hand
A beacon light of life's rough strand,
Untrammeled by color, creed or land,
Kind mother.

I saw her kneel in the house of prayer
None there, I thot, was half so fair,
With saintly brow and mien so rare,
Knelt mother.

I saw her gradually wilt and fade
With faltering steps down life's grade,
Yet nobly treading the path she made--
Sweet mother.

I saw her on that last dread day
Calm with holy peace amidst death's fray,
Till the angels beckoned my loved away--
Blest mother.

I saw her laid beneath earth's clod
As noble a mother as ever trod,
Though cold in death her soul's with God--
Saint mother.

Thanks to Shirley Brier for finding, transcribing and contributing the above news article to this web site!

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