I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youths are apt to be;
Though I had a Christian mother
who had taught me carefully. 

There came a time when pleasure
Of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good and pure. 

Her tender admonitions fell
But lightly on my ear,
And for the gentle warnings
I felt an inward sneer. 

How could I prove my manhood
Were I not firm of will?
No threat of future evil
Should all my pleasure kill. 

But mother would not yield her boy
To Satan's sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel
She knew a better way. 

No more she tried to caution
Of ways she knew were vain,
And though I guessed her heartache
I could not know its pain. 

She made my room an altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And left it in His care. 

And morning, noon and evening
By that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him who
Best can understand a mother's woe.

And I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed. 

Then I saw that she had been there
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure
Would her peace of mind destroy. 

While I wrestled with my conscience,
Mother wrestled still in prayer,
Till that little room seemed hallowed
Because so oft she met Him there. 

With her God she held the fortress,
And though not a word she said,
My stubborn heart was broken
By those imprints on my bed. 

Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mother's prayers.
Sin must yield-for Mother never
While she daily met Him there. 

And her constant love and patience
Were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints
Of her elbows on my bed. 

Mother-love and God-love
Are a combination rare,
And one that can't be beaten
When sealed by earnest prayer. 

And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led,
And mother's prayers were answered
By her elbows on my bed.