A mother cries, ‘Oh Lord my son’;
there is no hope but Thee.
I beg of You, please spare him Lord,
in this my painful plea.
O church rise up and fight the fight,
join in a mother’s cry.
Lay hold the hem and don’t let go;
don’t quit before you try.
A mother cries, lone voice is heard;
she’s weak against the foe.
Whose heart is moved to lend a hand?
Who’ll stand to make him go?
Hunger and Thirst 
Ahh,this is beautifully written,and the message,really hit’s my heart. We minister at a Retirement Home once a month,the ladies[mostly] are all over eighty. A service never pass’, without them all asking prayer for their ‘babies’. Remember the widow’s, and join them in faith.
I had to go back and read the poem; it has been a while. Kind of ties in with ‘Wrestiling’. I had to laugh a little at your comment about just ‘laying on the mat instead of wrestling’. I guess we all do that a little. I will add you and your ladies to the mix when I pray. Cool that you do that. I go into the jails. I see the sons your ladies want prayer for.