The Boy Who Kissed His Mother

She sat on the porch in the sunshine,
As I went down the street--
A woman whose hair was silver,
But whose face was blossom sweet,
Making me think of a garden,
Where, in spite of the frost and snow,
Of bleak November weather,
Late, fragrant lilies grow.

I heard a footstep behind me,
And the sound of a merry laugh,
And I knew the heart it came from
Would be like a comforting staff
In the time and the hour of trouble,
Hopeful and brave and strong;
One of the hearts to lean on
When we think that things go wrong.

I turned at the click of the gate-latch
And met his manly look;
A face like his gives me pleasure,
Like the page of a pleasant book;
It told of a steadfast purpose,
Of a brave and daring will--
A face with a promise in it
That God grant the years fulfill.

He went up the pathway singing.
I saw the woman's eyes
Grow bright with a wordless welcome,
As sunshine warms the skies.
"Back again, sweetheart mother,"
He cried and bent to kiss
The loving face that was lifted
For what some mothers miss.

That boy will do to depend on,
I hold that this is true--
From lads in love with their mothers
Our bravest heroes grew.
Earth's grandest hearts have been loving hearts,
Since time and earth began.
And the boy who kissed his mother
Is every inch a man.

by Eben E. Rexford