It was a rough earthen home,
Built with clay and sod.
But inside, love was there,
A home dedicated to God.
The mother; kindly, busy she -
Her work was never done.
Her work early did begin;
She worked from sun to sun.
Her husband and her children wore
Clothing made homespun from her loom.
Such busy, happy lives they had:
They had no time for gloom.
In another part of town,
A beautiful place did stand.
A perfect house, no love was there,
Was a jewel upon the land.
A mother here, in society
And a busy woman, she;
With clubs and cultured things,
But no time for family.
These children had a nurse to tend
Their every need and care -
Their father, was a busy man,
No time for their lives to share.
I ask you now, who has the wealth,
The gold from God above -
The wealthy, who too busy are,
Or the poor that share their love?
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