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THE MOTHER'S HOUR

That sweet communion-hour at eventide
When infant hearts turn back turn back
To seek the mother-love afresh.
When tiny hands reach out - reach out
And drowsy heads, dayworn and dull,
Droop like the poppy at the set of sun.
In that same hour around the world
We hear the soft, appealing call
Of infant soul to mother soul.
That is the mother's hour supreme;
Her greatest joy.

W. D. M.

NOTE

The Editor, Compiler and Publishers wish to acknowledge their indebtedness to

The Century Company, Clark Austin & Company, T. Y. Crowell & Company, Dodd, Mead & Company, E. P. Dutton & Company, Funk & Wagnalls Company, Houghton Mifflin Company, Harper & Brothers, Little Brown & Company, Jarrold & Sons, The Macmillan Company, A. C. McClurg & Company, Charles Scribner's Sons, World's Best Poetry, and others who have very kindly granted permission to reprint selections from works bearing their copyright.

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