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.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopped;
read more

The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopped;
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.

When a woman is twenty, a child deforms her; when she is thirty, he preserves her; and when forty, he read more

When a woman is twenty, a child deforms her; when she is thirty, he preserves her; and when forty, he makes her young again.

The bravest battle that ever was fought;
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps read more

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;
It was fought by the mothers of men.
- Joaquin Miller (pseudonym of Cincinnatus Hiner Miller),

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 says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
read more

The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
[Lat., Mater ait natae die natae filia natum
Ut moneat natae plangere filiolam.]

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know read more

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No
man does. That is his.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No
man does. That is his.

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.