I am a mother's prayer.

I am sometimes clothed in beautiful language that has been stitched together with the needles of love in the quiet chambers of the heart, and sometimes I am arrayed only in the halting phrases interrupted by tears, which have been torn like living roots from the deep soil of human emotion.

  I am a frequent watcher of the night. I have often seen the dawn break over the hills and flood the valleys with light and the dew of the gardens has been shaken from my eyes as I waited and cried at the gates of God.

I am a mother's prayer: there is no language I cannot speak; and no barrier of race or color causes my feet to stumble.

I am born before the child is born, and ere the day of deliverance comes, I have often stood at the altar of the Lord with the gift of an unborn life in my hands, blending my joyful and tearful voice with the prayers and tears of Thee father.

  I have rushed ahead of the nurse through the corridors of the hospital praying that the babe would be perfect, and I have sat dumb and mute in the presence of delight over a tiny bit of humanity, so overwhelmed I have been able to do nothing but strike my fingers on the harps of gratitude and say, "Well, thank the Lord!"

I am a mother's prayer: I have watched over the cradle; I have sustained a whole household while we waited for a doctor to come. I have mixed medicine and held up a thermometer that read 104 degrees. I have sighed with relief over the sweat in the little one's curls because the crisis was past.

I have stood in a funeral home to help make arrangements for a cremation of a granddaughter, and to help pick out a little cute urn for the ashes. And cast my arms around the promises of God to just hang on and wait until I could feel underneath me the everlasting arms.

 I am a mother's prayer: I have filled pantries with provision when the earthly provided was gone.

 I have sung songs in the night when there was nothing to sing about but the faithfulness of God.

 I have been pressed so close to the promises of the Word that the imprint of their truth is fragrant about me.

 I have lingered on the lips of the dying like a trembling melody echoed from Heaven.

I am a mother's prayer:

I am still here: and as long as God is God, and truth is truth, and the promises of God are "yes and amen,"  I will continue to woo the win and strive and plead with the boys and girls whose mothers are in Glory, but whose ambassador

I have been appointed by the King Emanuel.

I am a mother's prayer. . . . .