Mother's Day Poems
Mother o’ Mine
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!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, 0 mother o’ mine!
Rudyard Kipling (1891)
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child —
The feeblest — or the waywardest —
Her Admonition mild —
In Forest — and the Hill —
By Traveller — be heard —
Restraining Rampant Squirrel —
Or too impetuous Bird —
How fair Her Conversation —
A Summer Afternoon —
Her Household — Her Assembly —
And when the Sun go down —
Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket —
The most unworthy Flower —
When all the Children sleep —
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps —
Then bending from the Sky —
With infinite Affection —
And infiniter Care —
Her Golden finger on Her lip —
Wills Silence — Everywhere —
Emily Dickinson
Dear Mom
Dear Mom, I said a prayer for you
to thank the Lord above
For blessing me with a lifetime
of your tenderhearted love.
I thanked God for the caring
you've shown me through the years,
For the closeness we've enjoyed
in time of laughter and of tears.
And so, I thank you from the heart
for all you've done for me
And I bless the Lord for giving me
the best mother there could be
By Anonymous
A Mother
A Mother is one who
understands the things
you say and do
Who always overlooks
your faults and sees the
best in you
A Mother is one whose
special love inspires you
day by day.
Who fills your heart with
gladness in her warm
and thoughtful way.
A Mother is all these things
and more - the greatest
treasure known.
And the dearest Mother in
all of the world is the one I
call my own.
By Anonymous
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Mother's Day Poem
Another Mother's Day is here,
Bringing joy and pleasures new,
On this special day, Mother dear,
I want to remember you
I cannot give you costly gifts,
And I've told you this before,
No matter what I give to you,
You give back much, much more
I'm giving you a pure, sweet rose,
Gathered in the early morn,
This rose you planted in my heart,
The day that I was born
In kindly, loving thoughts of you,
And with the faith you still impart,
The rose I give to you today,
Is the love that's in my heart
By Anonymous
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mother Earth
Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed,
Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field,
Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,
Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!
Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,
Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,
All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,
Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.
Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures,
Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly
Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down
Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand.
But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,—
Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing:
Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee:
Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?
Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment
Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless,
Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover
Working within thee awakened the man-child to breathe thy secret.
All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters
Are but enchanted forms to embody the life of the spirit;
Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean,
Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion.
Henry Van Dyke (from The White Bees , 1909)
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!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, 0 mother o’ mine!
Rudyard Kipling (1891)
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child —
The feeblest — or the waywardest —
Her Admonition mild —
In Forest — and the Hill —
By Traveller — be heard —
Restraining Rampant Squirrel —
Or too impetuous Bird —
How fair Her Conversation —
A Summer Afternoon —
Her Household — Her Assembly —
And when the Sun go down —
Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket —
The most unworthy Flower —
When all the Children sleep —
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps —
Then bending from the Sky —
With infinite Affection —
And infiniter Care —
Her Golden finger on Her lip —
Wills Silence — Everywhere —
Emily Dickinson
Dear Mom
Dear Mom, I said a prayer for you
to thank the Lord above
For blessing me with a lifetime
of your tenderhearted love.
I thanked God for the caring
you've shown me through the years,
For the closeness we've enjoyed
in time of laughter and of tears.
And so, I thank you from the heart
for all you've done for me
And I bless the Lord for giving me
the best mother there could be
By Anonymous
A Mother
A Mother is one who
understands the things
you say and do
Who always overlooks
your faults and sees the
best in you
A Mother is one whose
special love inspires you
day by day.
Who fills your heart with
gladness in her warm
and thoughtful way.
A Mother is all these things
and more - the greatest
treasure known.
And the dearest Mother in
all of the world is the one I
call my own.
By Anonymous
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Mother's Day Poem
Another Mother's Day is here,
Bringing joy and pleasures new,
On this special day, Mother dear,
I want to remember you
I cannot give you costly gifts,
And I've told you this before,
No matter what I give to you,
You give back much, much more
I'm giving you a pure, sweet rose,
Gathered in the early morn,
This rose you planted in my heart,
The day that I was born
In kindly, loving thoughts of you,
And with the faith you still impart,
The rose I give to you today,
Is the love that's in my heart
By Anonymous
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mother Earth
Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed,
Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field,
Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,
Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!
Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,
Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,
All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,
Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.
Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures,
Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly
Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down
Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand.
But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,—
Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing:
Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee:
Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?
Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment
Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless,
Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover
Working within thee awakened the man-child to breathe thy secret.
All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters
Are but enchanted forms to embody the life of the spirit;
Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean,
Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion.
Henry Van Dyke (from The White Bees , 1909)
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