Our Parents

For me...strains of rich, red-blood,
That parents gave to me.
With mind and body...strong,
They placed me on the family tree.

And for this blessed privilege,
I must give honor due.
I must account for happiness,
And roots from which...I grew.

Now, parents are the folks you meet,
In ordinary life.
They've had their joyous days before,
And had their days of strife.

When I was just a toddler,
And was such a little lamb.
They held me on their laps...just so,
And fed me bread and jam.

They gave me good old-fashioned food,
And set me up a chair.
In all my days of growing-up,
They taught the need of prayer.

They knew that all us children,
Would sometimes fill with doubt.
That gospel-truths were something,
We couldn't do without.

They brought me up,
In ways they thought were right.
And set the guide-posts, one by one,
To steer me in the light.

They cut my hair that certain way,
And to make it all complete.
They laid the thickness on my knees,
And double-stitched my seat.

I had to milk the old brown-cow,
We had no cartons then.
We hunted eggs up in the barn,
From that old sitting-hen.

They taught me many cultured-things,
And stressed the need to search.
They pointed out my earthly needs,
And led me off to church.

My parents gave me gifts of books,
To seek that I might find.
They told me that the pages held,
The secrets to my mind.

They were so understanding,
And I remember how.
Their gentle-hands were soothing, warm,
Upon my fevered brow.

For they were ever patient, kind,
And it always was their aim.
That we should live by standards,
And glory in our name.

Years went passing one by one,
Love was...a shining chrome.
Then God...in heaven, saw the need,
And called my father...home.

Just why...one parent had to stay,
Is a mystery that we bear.
For every day she thinks of him,
And longs to join him there.

It is God's wondrous plan,
That parents work as one.
To rear and council children,
Ere their work is done.

And so...we laud our parents,
And with our voices raise.
Sweetest strains to honor them,
And ever sing their praise.

Could our love come forth...too freely?
No measure is enough for ours.
Refreshing to the inward feelings,
Like the dew upon the flowers.

Could our songs be sung too loudly?
For their accomplishments here...on earth.
Nay...no note in vibrant music,
Can fully sound their precious worth.

Could their endless hours be counted,
Could their toil be half confessed?
Not by any phrase I utter,
Nor be complete in words expressed.

Could our wishes all be granted,
There's no fault we would condemn.
May comfort, peace, and deep contentment,
Rally forth...and come to them.

In judgement of tomorrow,
Earned rewards are theirs to win.
God will say..."These were good Parents",
Come glorify...and enter in."


E.P. 1908 - 1989