A little boy with ruffled head
 Leaned in the doorway worn and gray
 "I love you, Mother," he kindly said,
 Then turned and ran aside to play.

His mother, tired with labors long
 Continued working till at last,
 His sister with a smile and song,
 Slipped gently in, and wandered past.

"I love you, Mother," she whispered low
 Then turned aside to leave her there,
 With eyes that could not see her woe
And heart that could not feel her care.

Then last of all there came that way
 Her other brother, kind and true.
 He had no words of love to say,
 No noble speech of praise to do.

But quickly took his Mother's broom,
 So she might sit and rest awhile,
 And cleaned and tidied up the room,
 And rocked the baby with a smile.

Though not a word of love was said,
 How do you think their mother quessed
 That night when all were safe in bed
 The one who really loved her best?