A woman's love
Is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak,
And by its weakness overcomes.

A woman's love
Is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak,
And by its weakness overcomes.

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.

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 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 said to her daughter, "Daughter, bid thy daughter tell
her daughter that her daughter's daughter hath a read more

The mother said to her daughter, "Daughter, bid thy daughter tell
her daughter that her daughter's daughter hath a daughter."

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.]

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.

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.