That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more

That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also,
and he praiseth her.

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also,
and he praiseth her.

There is none,
In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, read more

There is none,
In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
A mother's heart.

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, read more

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude.

They say that man is mighty,
He governs land and sea,
He wields a mighty scepter
read more

They say that man is mighty,
He governs land and sea,
He wields a mighty scepter
O'er lesser powers that be;
But a mightier power and stronger
Man from his throne has hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she read more

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the read more

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well/
My mother.

Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all read more

Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall,
He shall not blind his soul with clay.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.