1930 Cedrus Yearbook

To Our Mothers Her hair is turning silver, In age she is growing old, But the years can'tdim the beating Of a heart that is purer than gold. Her step is not so springy, Her vision is not so keen, But a mother's mind still ponders Of her children and what they mean. A child is its mother's happiness, For them she does without All things that make life happy, For their safety she's always indoubt. So here's to every mother, May her memory last through time, I know that God above us Made heaven for her a shrine. —N. B.