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!

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),

And Adam called his wife's name Eve; because she was the mother
of all living.

And Adam called his wife's name Eve; because she was the mother
of all living.

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.

One woman will brag about her children, while another complains about hers; they could probably swap children without swapping tunes

One woman will brag about her children, while another complains about hers; they could probably swap children without swapping tunes

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.

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, read more

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude.

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.

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.