Good mothers are very dear to their children. There is no mother in the world like our own mother. My friend Sanders from Glasgow says, “The mither’s breath is aye sweet.” Every woman is a handsome woman to her own son. That man is not worth hanging who does not love his mother.
When good women lead their little ones to the Savior, the Lord Jesus blesses not only the children, but their mothers. Happy are they among women who see their sons and their daughters walking in the truth.
Mother Of Judas
The sorrowing mother of Judas knelt by the side of her son,
And her heart was sealed to the story of the awful deed he had done.
His father had left him, broken, a statue of shame and pride--
But his mother knelt beside him and closed his eyes when he died.
There were no mourners for Judas, there were no mourners but one;
A pitiful, gray-haired woman, who knelt by the side of her son;
And so she wept beside him as the others, mocking, passed--
For God is tender with mothers; He gives them faith to the last.
Her Last Days
There she sits, the old Christian mother, ripe for heaven. Her eyesight is almost gone, but the splendors of the celestial city kindle up her vision. The gray light of heaven’s morn has struck through the gray locks whick are folded back over the wrinkled temples. She stoops very much now under the burden of care she used to carry for her children.
She sits at home, too old to find her way to the house of God; but while she sits there all the past comes back, and the children who forty years ago tripped around her arm-chair with their griefs, joys and sorrowsthese children are gone now. Some were caught up into a better realm, where they shall never die, and others are out in the broad world, testing the excellency of a Christian mother’s discipline.
Her last days are full of peace and calmer and sweeter will her spirit become, until the gates of life shall lift and pass the worn-out pilgrim into eternal springtide and youth, where the limbs never ache nor the eyes grow dim, and the staff of the exhausted and decrepit pilgrim shall become the palm of the immortal athlete.
Sure I love the dear silver that shines in your hair,
And the brow that’s all furrowed, and wrinkled with care.
I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me,
Oh, God bless you and keep you, Mother Machree.
The Influence of a Christian Mother
One hundred and twenty clergymen were together, and they were telling their experiences and their ancestry. Of these one hundred and twenty clergymen, how many of them, do you suppose, assigned as the means of their conversion the influence of a Christian mother? One hundred out of the one hundred and twenty!
Philip Doddridge was brought to God by the Scripture lesson on the Dutch tiles of a chimney fireplace. The mother thinks she is only rocking a child, but at the same time she may be rocking the fate of nationsrocking the glories of heaven. The same maternal power which may life the child up may press a child down.
The mother in her office holds the key of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin of character and makes the being who would be a savage, but for her gentle cares, a Christian man! Then crown her the queen of the world.