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.

The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Israel,
until that I Deborah arose, that I arose a read more

The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Israel,
until that I Deborah arose, that I arose a mother in Israel.

They say man rules the universe,
That subject shore and main
Kneel down and bless the empery
read more

They say man rules the universe,
That subject shore and main
Kneel down and bless the empery
Of his majestic reign;
But a sovereign, gentler, mightier,
Man from his throne has hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy read more

There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell.

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.

The mother loves her child most divinely, not when she surrounds him with comfort and anticipates his wants, but when read more

The mother loves her child most divinely, not when she surrounds him with comfort and anticipates his wants, but when she resolutely holds him to the highest standards and is content with nothing less than his best.

At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother, weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord.
read more

At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother, weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord.
[Lat., Stabat mater, dolorosa
Juxta crucem lacrymosa
Que pendebat Filius.]

A girl is Innocence playing in the mud, Beauty standing on its head, and Motherhood dragging a doll by the read more

A girl is Innocence playing in the mud, Beauty standing on its head, and Motherhood dragging a doll by the foot

And say to mothers what a holy charge
Is theirs--with what a kingly power their love
Might read more

And say to mothers what a holy charge
Is theirs--with what a kingly power their love
Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind.