When mother’s sewing buttons on
Their little garments, one by one,
I settle down contented there
And watch her in her rocking chair.
She’s at the task she likes the best
Each little waist and undervest
She fondles in a mother’s way,
And notes each sign of sturdy play
And shakes her head and says to me:
‘I wonder how this came to be?’
There’s something in her patient eyes,
As in and out her needle flies,
Which seems to tell the joy she takes
In every little stitch she makes.
An hour of peace has settled down;
Hushed is the clamor of the town;
And even I am different then,
For I forsake the ways of men
And see about the garments there
Bright visions of a happy pair.
Buttons are closely linked to joy.
Each little girl and little boy
Who dares to climb the garden fence
Buys that delight at their expense;
Buttons are childhood’s tattle tales
Swifter than telegrams or mails
They fly to tell of moments glad
That little boys and girls have had;
And mother reads the stories there
From every vacant space and tear.
She sweetly smiles and says to me:
‘How sturdy they have grown to be!
It keeps me busy to repair
The shirts and things they have to wear.’
I chuckle as I watch her sew,
For joy has set the room aglow,
And in the picture I can see
The strength which means so much to me.
The scene is good to look upon
When mother’s sewing buttons on.
