RICHER THAN 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)
- 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
- Songs my mother taught me, In the days long vanish’d Seldom from her eyelids Were the teardrops banish’d. Now I teach my children Each melodious measure, Oft the teardrops flowing, Oft they flow from my mem’ry’s treasure. — Author Unknown
- A picture memory brings to me; I look across the years and see Myself beside my mother’s knee. I feel her gentle hand restrain My selfish moods, and know again A child’s blind sense of wrong and pain. But wiser now, a man gray grown, My childhood’s needs are better known. My mother’s chastening love I own. — John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)
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)
- “M” is for the million things she gave me, “O” means only that she’s growing old, “T” is for the tears she shed to save me, “H” is for her heart of purest gold; “E” is for her eyes, with love-light shining, “R” means right, and right she’ll always be, Put them all together, they spell “MOTHER,” A word that means the world to me. –Howard Johnson (c. 1915)
THAT WONDERFUL MOTHER OF MINE
The moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of that wonderful mother of mine. The birds never sing but a message they bring Of that wonderful mother of mine. Just to bring back the time, that was so sweet to me, Just to bring back the days, when I sat on her knee.
I pray ev’ry night to our Father above, For that wonderful mother of mine. I ask Him to keep her as long as He can That — wonderful mother of mine. There are treasures on earth, that made life seem worthwhile, But there’s none can compare to my mother’s smile.
(Refrain) You are a wonderful mother, dear old Mother of mine. You’ll hold a spot down deep in my heart, ‘Till the stars no longer shine. Your soul shall live on forever, On through the fields of time. For there’ll never be another to me, Like that wonderful Mother of mine. — Clyde Hager
THE TRUEST FRIEND
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. — Washington Irving (1783-1859)
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)