Mother's
Day Poem - 1
To
My Mother
Because I feel that in the heavens above
The angels, whispering one to another,
Can find among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I have long called you,
You who are more than mother unto me,
And filled my heart of hearts, where death installed you,
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother -- my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are the mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
But that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul that its soul-life.
- Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
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Mother's
Day Poem - 2
Sweet
dreams, for a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head,
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy silent moony beams.Sweet sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.Sleep, sleep, happy child.
All creation slept and smil'd
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy maker lay and wept for me,Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
-
William Blake 1757-1827
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Mother's
Day Poem - 3
The
little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cr, but God ever nigh,
Appear'd like his father in white.
He
kissed the child and by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.
-
William Blake 1757-1827
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Mother's
Day Poem - 4
Two
women living alone in the same house had baies within three days of
each other. One baby died, and its mother stole the other while the
mother slept, substituting the corpse of her own baby. Although the
other woman noticed the deception, the first woman refused to relinquish
the baby. So they came before King Solomon, each claiming that the
living was hers.
The king commanded his officers to bring the sword and when it was
brought ordered that the baby he cut in two; one half would be given
to one woman and the other half to the other. The rightful mother,
stirred with love and pity for her child said, "O my lord, give
her he living child,and in no wise slay it." But the other woman
said, "Let it be neither mine or thine, but divide it."
The King, perceiving that the compassion of the first woman had identified
her as the true mother, ordered that the baby be given to her.
-
Solomon, King of Israel c.973-c.933 BC
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Mother's
Day Poem - 5
The
Princess
I loved her, one
Not learned, save in gracious household ways,
Nor perfect, nay, but full of tender wants,
No Angel instincts, breathing Paradise,
Interpreter between the gods and men,
Who look'd all native to her place, and yet
On tiptoe seem'd to touch upon a sphere
Too gross to tread,
and all male minds perforce
Sway's to her from their orbits
as they moved,
And girdled her with music. Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womenkind
Beats with his blood,
and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall,
He shall not blind his soul with clay.
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Mother's
Day Poem - 6
To
My Mother
They tell us of an Indian tree
Which howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughsd to wander free,
And shoot and blossom, wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth
From which the life that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth,
'Tis thus, though wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it may be),
This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!
- Thomas Moore
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Mother's
Day Poem - 7
Sense
and Sensibility
As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was
her desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child - rendered
dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger.
Elinor's delight as she saw what each felt in meeting, was only checked
by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of further sleep; but Mrs.
Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life of a
child was at stake, and Marianne, satisified in knowing her mother
was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted
readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around
her.
Marianne continued to mind every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness
of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly
declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world.
- Jane Austen
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Mother's
Day Poem - 8
Upon
my lap my sovereign sits
And sucks upon my breast;
Meantime his love maintains my life
And gives my sense her est.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
When
thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose,my babe, on me;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Sing
Lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
I
grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would;
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
Yet
as I am, and as I may,
I must and will be thine,
Though all too little for thyself
Voushsafing to be mine.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
-
Richard Rowlands 1565-1630?
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Mother's
Day Poem - 9
A
child's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space -
Then tire, and lay it by.
But
I knew one that to itself
All seasons could control;
That would have mock's the sense of pain
Out of a grieved soul.
Thou
straggler into loving arms,
Young climber-up of knees
When I forget thy thousand ways
Then life and all shall cease.
-
Mary Lamb 1765-1847
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Mother's
Day Poem - 10
His
Mother
Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the
unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach
us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last
point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Mother's
Day Poem - 11
Angels
of God
They are angels of God in disguise;
His sunlight still gleams in their tresses;
His glory still gleams in their eyes.
- Charles M. Dickinson
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Mother's
Day Poem - 12
In
All Honor
Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and
for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all
womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Mother's
Day Poem - 13
My
Mother
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My Mother.
Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And fondly taught me how to play,
And minded all I had to say?
My Mother.
Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My Mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who was so very kind to me?
My Mother.
- Anne Taylor
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Mother's
Day Poem - 14
Motherhood
The bravest battle that ever was fought!
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you will find it not;
'Twas fought by the mothers of men.
Nay not with the cannon of battle-shot,
With a sword or noble pen;
Nay, not with eloquent words or thought
From mouth of wonderful men!
But deep in a walled-up woman's heart -
Of a woman that would not yield,
But bravely, silently bore her part -
Lo, there is the battlefield!
No marshalling troops, no bivouac song,
No banner to gleam and wave;
But oh! those battles, they last so long -
From babyhood to the grave.
Yet, faithful still as a bridge of stars,
She fights in her walled-up town -
Fights on and on in her endless wars,
Then silent, unseen, goes down.
Oh, ye with banners and battle-shot,
And soldiers to shout and paise!
I tell you the kingliest victories fought
Were fought in those silent ways.
O spotless woman in a world of shame,
With splendid and silent scorn,
Go back to God as white as you came -
The Kingliest warrior born!
- Joaquin Miller (1839-1913)
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Mother's
Day Poem - 15
Wonderful
Mother
God made a wonderful mother,
A mother who never grows old;
He made her smile of the sunshine.
And He moulded her heart of pure gold;
In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,
In her cheeks fair roses you see;
God made a wonderful mother,
And He gave that dear mother to me.
- Pat O'Reilly
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Mother's
Day Poem - 16
Richer
Then Gold
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be -
I had a mother who read to me.
- Strickland Gillilan (1869-1954)
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Mother's
Day Poem - 17
Little
Women
'Mother, do you have "plans," as Mrs. Moffat said?' asked
Meg, bashfully.
'Yes, my dear, I have a great many; all mothers do, but mine differ
somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. ...
'I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good; to be
admired, loved, and respected; to have a happy youth, to be well and
wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little
care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and
chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen
to a woman; and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful
experience.
It is natural to think of it, Meg; right to hope and wait for it,
and wise to prepare for it; so that, when the happy time comes, you
may feel /images/events for the duties, and worthy of the joy.
My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a
dash in the world-marry rich men merely because they are rich, or
have splendid houses, which are not homes because love is wanting.
Money is a needful and precious thing-and, when well used, a noble
thing-but I never want you to think of it as the first or only prize
to strive for.
I'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented,
than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace.
'One thing remember, my girls; mother is always /images/events to
be your confidante, father to be your friend; and both of us trust
and hope that our daughters, whether married or single, will be the
pride and comfort of our lives.'
- Louisa May Alcott
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Mother's
Day Poem - 18
There
Was a Child Went Forth
The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;
The mother with mild words clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor
falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture the yearning
and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay’d the sense of what is real
the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time the curious whether
and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets if they are not flashes
and specks, what are they?
The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods
in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves the huge crossing
at the ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of
white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide the little boat
slack-tow’d astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away
solitary by itself the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt
marsh and shore mud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who
now goes, and will always go forth every day.
- Walt Whitman
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Mother's
Day Poem - 19
The
Prophet
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you,
and yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell
in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your
dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward, not tarries with yesterday.
- Kahlil Gibran
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Mother's
Day Poem - 20
Poems
and Lyrics
She is very touching in her sweet little marks of affection.
Once or twice, when I have seemed unhappy about little things,
she has come and held up her little mouth to be kissed.
Last night I was in pain, and made a sort of moan. She was lying by
me, apparently asleep; but as if her gentle instinct of love prompted
her even then, she pressed to me, saying, 'Kiss, Mama,'
These are trifles, but how very precious may the remembrance of them
become.
- Elizabeth Gaskell
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