To Mother Lytle
by F.B.T.

Dear, tired hands, that carried their full share
Of earthly toil - and yet found time to bear
The cup of solace, or the brimming chalice
Of life's good cheer - without the dregs of malice -
Strong, gentle hands, that soothed as they caressed
And everyone they touched was truly blessed.

Dear, kindly eyes, that caught the Heaven's blue, -
And mixed with it the gray of twilight's hue;
Brave eyes - once keen - but always true and strong,
And able to distinguish right from wrong.
Love's eyes, that watched her children as they slept;
And all their lives a tireless vigil kept.
Clear eyes, that saw beyond this vale of tears,
And planned a mansion, of eternal years.

Dear, warm heart, that kept its proper place,
And yet had room - and room - of magic space
To house her loved ones - and yet had room to spare
For countless friends who found warm shelter there.
A heart attuned to every S.O.S. -
With quickened beat, to reach those in distress.
Brave, loyal heart that harbored no false pride -
Where only love and mercy could abide.

The precious hands lie quietly in sleep;
The lovely eyes no longer vigil keep.
The pulsing, vibrant heart at last is still, -
For the soul that quickened it has gone to fill
A glorious place in Heaven's own domain,
Where angel hosts sing "Welcome home again!"

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