It's mighty hard for Mother—I am busy through the day <br />And the tasks of every morning keep the gloomy thoughts away, <br />And I'm not forever meeting with a slipper or a gown <br />To remind me of our sorrow when I'm toiling in the town. <br />But with Mother it is different—there's no minute she is free <br />From the sight of things which tell her of the joy which used to be. <br />She is brave and she is faithful, and we say we're reconciled, <br />But your hearts are always heavy once you've lost a little child; <br />And a man can face his sorrow in a manly sort of way, <br />For his grief must quickly leave him when he's busy through the day; <br />But the mother's lot is harder—she must learn to sing and smile <br />Though she's living in the presence of her sorrow all the while. <br />Through the room where love once waited she must tip-toe day by day, <br />She must see through every window where the baby used to play,[Pg 63] <br />And there's not a thing she touches, nor a task she finds to do, <br />But it sets her heart to aching and begins the hurt anew. <br />Oh, a man can turn from sorrow, for his mind is occupied, <br />But the mother's lot is harder—grief is always at her side.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harder-part/
