Prints Of Elbows On My Bed

I was but a youth and thoughtless...
As all youths are apt to be;
Though I had a Christian mother...
Who had taught me carefully.
There came a time when pleasure...
Of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought the guidance...
Of her love so good and pure.
Her tender admonitions fell...
But lightly on my ear,
And for the gentle warnings...
I felt an inward sneer.
But Mother would not yield her boy...
To Satan's sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel...
She knew a better way.
She made my room an altar...
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden...
And left it in His care.
And morning, noon and evening...
By that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him who...
Understands a mother's woe.
And I went my way unheeding...
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed...
Prints of elbows on my bed.
Then I saw that she had been there...
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure...
Would her peace of mind destroy.
Long the conflict raged within me...
Sin against my Mother's prayers,
Sin must yield - for Mother never...
While she daily met Him there.
And her constant love and patience...
Were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints...
Of her elbows on my bed.
And so at last the fight was won...
And I to Christ was led,
And Mother's prayers were answered...
By her elbows on my bed.
© Original Author