midnight
Mothers , worn out and enfeebled with work , labouring for those who , however good they may be , are at the best unable to pay you for you unceasing toil , unable to realize your great sacrifices , do you look upon your neighbour who has more means and a few petted children , and wish that your lot was like hers ? You pause often over your task , and think it greater than you can bear . `` Tell mothers , '' said a lady to us a short time since , `` who have their little ones around them , that they are living their happiest days ; and the time will come when they will realize it . Tell them to bend in thankfulness over the midnight lamp , to smile at their ceaseless work and call it pleasure . I can but kneel in fancy by the distant graves of my children ; they are all gone . Could I but have them beside me now , I would delve like a slave for them ; I would think no burden too hard , no denial beyond my strength , if I might but labour for their good and be rewarded by their smiles and their love . '' Then in whatever situation we are , we should remember that even but a door from our own dwelling there may be anguish , compared with which ours is but as the whisper of a breath to the roll of the thunder .