Today I found within my dingy attic
An iron-bound chest, musty and very old,
I raised the lid with eager, trembling fingers,
And found these treasures dearer far than gold.
A blurred and faded tintype of my mother,
A sampler showed the deftness of her hand;
And many bits of art she made and treasured,
With hopes that only mothers understand.
There was a picture of an ancient school house
With all the scholars standing in a row,
And in the very centre was the teacher—
Which took me back to school days, long ago.
And there within a little ebon casket,
Yellowed with age and wrapped with deep regard,
A little gilt-edged card, script of Old English,
An invitation—my own wedding card.
Some little garments very sheer and lacy
With bits of narrow ribbon, pink and blue,
A little ring with this inscription, "Baby,"
Were wrapped together . . . with one small worn shoe.
Today I found within my dingy attic
An iron-bound chest, musty and very old,
I raised the lid with eager, trembling fingers
And found these treasures dearer farm than gold.
