Down To The Mothers
Linger no more, my beloved, by abbey and cell and cathedral;
Mourn not for holy ones mourning of old them who knew not the Father,
Weeping with fast and scourge, when the bridegroom was taken from them.
Drop back awhile through the years, to the warm rich youth of the nations,
Childlike in virtue and faith, though childlike in passion and pleasure,
Childlike still, and still near to their God, while the day-spring of Eden
Lingered in rose-red rays on the peaks of Ionian mountains.
Down to the mothers, as Faust went, I go, to the roots of our manhood,
Mothers of us in our cradles; of us once more in our glory.
New-born, body and soul, in the great pure world which shall be
In the renewing of all things, when man shall return to his Eden
Conquering evil, and death, and shame, and the slander of conscience-
Free in the sunshine of Godhead-and fearlessly smile on his Father.
Down to the mothers I go-yet with thee still!-be with me, thou purest!
Lead me, thy hand in my hand; and the dayspring of God go before us.
Eversley, 1852.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Land of Dreams
Awake awake my little Boy
Thou wast thy Mothers only joy
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep
Awake thy Father does thee keep
O what Land is the Land of Dreams
What are its Mountains and what are its Streams
O Father I saw my Mother there
Among the Lillies by waters fair
Among the Lambs clothed in white
She walkd with her Thomas in sweet delight
I wept for joy like a dove I mourn
O when shall I again return
Dear Child I also by pleasant Streams
Have wanderd all Night in the Land of Dreams
But tho calm and warm the Waters wide
I could not get to the other side
Father O Father what do we here
In this Land of unbelief and fear
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Our Father
As the little fellow walked by the side of my horse, I asked him if there was any church that the slaves attended on Sunday. He said no, there was none near enough, and he had never seen one. I asked him if he knew where people went to when they died, and was much affected with the simple, earnest look, with which he pointed to the sky, as he replied, 'To Fader, dere.' — Adam Hodgson.
That dearest name! ay, even thou, poor slave, may'st lift thine eye,
Nor dread a chilling glance of scorn will meet thee from the sky:
Go bend the knee, and raise the soul, and lift thy hopes above,
The God of heaven is even to thee, a Father in his love.
The earth-worm, man, may crush thee down to slavery and shame,
And in his puny pride usurp a master's haughty name;
But He, Lord God Omnipotent, disdaineth not to bear
A parent's cherish'd name to thee, to yield a parent's care.
And thou, with childlike confidence, may'st spring to his embrace,
Nor shrink in shame before the glance of that paternal face;
Thou art not yet an ingrate vile—thou hast not, in thy pride,
Return'd him falsehood for his love,—his holiest laws defied.
Thou never like a thief hast spoil'd the nurslings of his fold;
Thou ne'er hast given thy brother's form to be enslaved and sold;
No wrathful thunders seem, to thee, to clothe his vengeful arm,
Nor fearful lightnings in his eye, awake thy wild alarm.
Our Father! oh how deeply dear that holy name should be—
How should we love the meanest one, who thus may call on Thee!
And yet—thou Just and Righteous God! if thou wert not our sire,
Long since we had been swept away by thy consuming ire.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Incandescent Moth (For Celeste)
the incandescent moth,
born flying with maddened joy
towards the light...
heart purified by weeping,
healed by childlike wonder.
mind searching every crevice
for every dram of truth.
soul bearing the marks of the whip,
childlike hands that dare to touch.
a river bent on giving,
the moth, closer and closer still,
till wings become the dust of angels,
spread at the feet of beginning and end!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Crown Of Life
THE days, the doubts, the dreams of pain
Are over, not to come again,
And from the menace of the night
Has dawned the day-star of delight:
My baby lies against me pressed--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed!
His little head upon my arm,
His little body soft and warm,
His little feet that cannot stand
Held in the heart of this, my hand.
His little mouth close on my breast--
Thus, Mary's Son, are mothers blessed.
All dreams of deeds, all deeds of day
Are very faint and far away,
Yet you some day will stand upright
And fight God's foes, in manhood's might,
You--tiny, worshipped, clasped, caressed--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.
Whatever grief may come to be
This hour divine goes on for me.
All glorious is my little span,
Since I, like God, have made a man,
A little image of God's best--
Thus, Mary's Son, are mothers blessed.
Come change, come loss, come worlds of tears,
Come endless chain of empty years;
They cannot take away the hour
That gives me You--my bird, my flower!
Thank God for this! Leave God the rest!--
Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In Memory of Walter Savage Landor
Back to the flower-town, side by side,
The bright months bring,
New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,
Freedom and spring.
The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,
Filled full of sun;
All things come back to her, being free;
All things but one.
In many a tender wheaten plot
Flowers that were dead
Live, and old suns revive; but not
That holier head.
By this white wandering waste of sea,
Far north, I hear
One face shall never turn to me
As once this year:
Shall never smile and turn and rest
On mine as there,
Nor one most sacred hand be prest
Upon my hair.
I came as one whose thoughts half linger,
Half run before;
The youngest to the oldest singer
That England bore.
I found him whom I shall not find
Till all grief end,
In holiest age our mightiest mind,
Father and friend.
But thou, if anything endure,
If hope there be,
O spirit that man's life left pure,
Man's death set free,
Not with disdain of days that were
Look earthward now;
Let dreams revive the reverend hair,
The imperial brow;
Come back in sleep, for in the life
Where thou art not
We find none like thee. Time and strife
And the world's lot
Move thee no more; but love at least
And reverent heart
May move thee, royal and released,
Soul, as thou art.
And thou, his Florence, to thy trust
Receive and keep,
Keep safe his dedicated dust,
His sacred sleep.
So shall thy lovers, come from far,
Mix with thy name
As morning-star with evening-star
His faultless fame.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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On a Dead Child
Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee,
With promise of strength and manhood full and fair!
Though cold and stark and bare,
The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee.
Thy mother's treasure wert thou;—alas! no longer
To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be
Thy father's pride:—ah, he
Must gather his faith together, and his strength make stronger.
To me, as I move thee now in the last duty,
Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond;
Startling my fancy fond
With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty.
Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it:
But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff;
Yet feels to my hand as if
'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it.
So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,—
Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed!—
Propping thy wise, sad head,
Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing.
So quiet! doth the change content thee?—Death, whither hath he taken thee?
To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this?
The vision of which I miss,
Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and awaken thee?
Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us
To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark,
Unwilling, alone we embark,
And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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The point is to develop the childlike inclination for play and the childlike desire for recognition and to guide the child over to important fields for society. Such a school demands from the teacher that he be a kind of artist in his province.
Albert Einstein in Out of My Later Years
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Poems
We have Fathers Poems
Why not Mothers Poems?
Without our Mothers, we won't be born,
Without Mothers, We are so forlorn.
Babies, Mothers nurture,
And guide us in our future.
To Mothers everywhere,
Lovely poems, I do declare!
Through The Door
You don't like when I speak Truth, I don't like when you teach wrong,
And when you think about God, there's no question what side He's on.
You may think that I'm just arrogant and filled with my own opinion.
But friend, you won't find anything wrong in God's Eternal Dominion.
Even when Christ, bearing all of our sins on the cross was crucified,
His Father, who could not look at sin, had to turn away as He died.
Christ came to give us New Life in Him, and gave us proof as He rose,
This is a fact for all to know, even if you keep your eyes closed.
Friend, I had my choice and followed men, but, then I met The Lord,
Being gently nudged by The Holy Spirit of God, He led me to The Door.
Standing at The Door with childlike faith, a small voice spoke to me,
Open The Door with a childlike faith and The Lord will set you free.
And Jesus died for the whole world that day on the cross at Calvary,
But, opening up The Door and entering through was totally up to me.
So, I went through The Door that day and I have never been the same,
Although I felt no difference that day, my life sure began to change.
God began to cleanse me in The Word that day and gave me eyes to see,
My life down here is but a mist my friend, and I focused on Eternity.
As man continues to focus on the world through religious innovation,
God patiently waits for all who will, to come to Jesus for Salvation.
(Copyright © 03/2003)
Boy to A Man
Father dear father
I must have loved you
But to hear you
Hurt my mother
Made me want
To hate you
I should have been able
To look up to you like all sons do
But all I wanted to do
Was hurt you
I'd lie in bed awake
And hear my mothers cries
All I could do
Was try find a world without you
We feared you
We fled you
But we could
Never escape you
Untill one dark night
I stopped you
And saw the fear
In your eyes
I went from boy to a man
To stop my mothers cries
I still look back with sadness
But I can still see my mothers pride
As I stand by her side
Boy to a man
In loving memory to my mother
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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The Child That I Am
Blue, Red and Yellow
Are primary colors.
The colors of childhood;
The colors of children.
I am soft and innocent and childlike-
Trying hard to be childlike;
Trying to be vulnerable again;
Unaffected, Unassuming.
There is a quiet, serious look in my face;
An ache in my heart.
I am alone in my sorrow,
Driven by fear
To be childlike, expressive,
Truthful and wise;
To recapture the essence of living;
Of playing in childhood dreams;
Aware of the wonders of nature;
Sensitive to Flowers and things;
Passive in my joy;
Beautiful in my art-
The art of recreating childhood.
(January 9,1991)
poem by Carole Moran
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Sometimes I Feel You
Sometimes I feel you
Your presence
Tickling my neck
Sometimes I feel you
Waking up
Feeling my Sweat drip
I saw you
Sometimes I reach for you
My hand stretching
My muscles stiffening
I cannot get to you
Sometimes I talk to you
My eyes closed
In the middle of the night
When my body sleeps
And my mind does not
Sometimes I feel you
Dripping from the sky
You are lonely
You seem sad
You bring weather
That makes my bones weak
Sometimes I feel you
Through my window
Gently stroking the blinds
Sometimes I hear you
Whistling through the air
Creating a tornado of despair
Sometimes I grieve for you
Your life was too short
When you left this world
I wasn't even born
But, you are not a stranger
You are my angel
And when you cry
You bring rain
And when you smile
The clouds move
Like your lips do
And the sunshine peaks through
Sometimes I feel you
Through black and white pictures
Your eyes gazing at me
Seeing the creation your daughter has made
You try hard to smile
Behind a garden
You have tamed
Only soon
Your garden will no longer be in your hands
Your eyes dry up
Your flowers dry up
Your hands no longer tame gardens on Earth
Sometimes I feel you
Through my mothers garden
Sometimes I taste you
Through my mothers recipes
Sometimes I see you
Through my mothers eyes
poem by Diana Poems
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Child-Songs
Still linger in our noon of time
And on our Saxon tongue
The echoes of the home-born hymns
The Aryan mothers sung.
And childhood had its litanies
In every age and clime;
The earliest cradles of the race
Were rocked to poet's rhyme.
Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower,
Nor green earth's virgin sod,
So moved the singer's heart of old
As these small ones of God.
The mystery of unfolding life
Was more than dawning morn,
Than opening flower or crescent moon
The human soul new-born.
And still to childhood's sweet appeal
The heart of genius turns,
And more than all the sages teach
From lisping voices learns,--
The voices loved of him who sang,
Where Tweed and Teviot glide,
That sound to-day on all the winds
That blow from Rydal-side,--
Heard in the Teuton's household songs,
And folk-lore of the Finn,
Where'er to holy Christmas hearths
The Christ-child enters in!
Before life's sweetest mystery still
The heart in reverence kneels;
The wonder of the primal birth
The latest mother feels.
We need love's tender lessons taught
As only weakness can;
God hath His small interpreters;
The child must teach the man.
We wander wide through evil years,
Our eyes of faith grow dim;
But he is freshest from His hands
And nearest unto Him!
And haply, pleading long with Him
For sin-sick hearts and cold,
The angels of our childhood still
The Father's face behold.
Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us,
O-Master most divine,
To feel the deep significance
Of these wise words of Thine!
The haughty eye shall seek in vain
What innocence beholds;
No cunning finds the key of heaven,
No strength its gate unfolds.
Alone to guilelessness and love
That gate shall open fall;
The mind of pride is nothingness,
The childlike heart is all!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Happy Mothers Day
Happy mothers day mom
Im glad ur here
Now listen to this
You might want to here
You are the best mom i could ever want
And im glad ur here
Because if you weren't it would make me tear
Another mothers day had gone to fast
But just remember all of the good times from the past
Like the day i was born
O boy that was great
Or the way you use to run around with us an play
So i just wanted you to no how special you are
And thats why you deserve this card
You are the best mom any kid could want
Happy mothers day
I LOVE YOU MOM.........
poem by Ralph Acosta
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Happy Mothers Day
happy mothers day mom
im glad ur here
now listen to this
you mighyt want to here
you are the best mom i could ever want
and im glad ur here
because if you wernt it would make me tear
another mothers day had gone to fast
but just rember all of the good times from the past
like the day i was born
o boy that was great
or you and dads very first date
so i just wanted you to no how special you are
and thats why you deserve this card
you are the best mom any kid could want
happy mothers day mom i love you
poem by Griffin Mahan
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Thekla - A Spirit Voice
Whither was it that my spirit wended
When from thee my fleeting shadow moved?
Is not now each earthly conflict ended?
Say,--have I not lived,--have I not loved?
Art thou for the nightingales inquiring
Who entranced thee in the early year
With their melody so joy-inspiring?
Only whilst they loved they lingered here.
Is the lost one lost to me forever?
Trust me, with him joyfully I stray
There, where naught united souls can sever,
And where every tear is wiped away.
And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven,
When thy love with our love can compare;
There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,--
Murder foul can never reach him there.
And he feels that him no vision cheated
When he gazed upon the stars on high;
For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted;
Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh.
Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder
With the feelings true that ne'er decay.
Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander
Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Odyssey of the Soul
Childhood falls
Suffocated by lies
Promises of tomorrow
Trade the dreams of today
Consumer chase begins
A little piece of beauty
Sacrificed to adulthood
Wonder, Imagination
Don’t leave me now
Vanishing days
Carelessly slip away
Time and tide dispels
All childlike things
Life becomes dimmer
Too old for fun
Fun is fun it’s ageless
It is just fun, and its free
Maturity, yes maturity
Ever seen the world
Is this maturity?
I must act my age
My spirit rises before me
So many seasons, so much time
Eyes searching for a sign
Doesn’t anyone realise
Mistaken we equate childishness
For the gift of being childlike
Age straps on the chains
We become a worldling
Stolen childhood, silently
Lost Along the way
Childlike observations
Were not meant to wither
Imagination crushed by facts
Dreaming dreams, just dreams
Dreams worth coming true
This too will pass, with age
Who would have thought
walking between rain drops
would become silly
Capturing the frosted
Cobwebs on a twig
restricted to the young
Imagination, imagination
when did it happen
was I distracted
full of self wisdom
unaware that now begins
the oddyssey of the soul
the long trek home
to my Father’s arms
poem by Adrian Wait
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The Song of Lamech
Hearken to me, ye mothers of my tent:
Ye wives of Lamech, hearken to my speech:
Adah, let Jubal hither lead his goats:
And Tubal Cain, O Zillah, hush the forge;
Naamah her wheel shall ply beside, and thou,
My Jubal, touch, before I speak, the string.
Yea, Jubal, touch, before I speak, the string.
Hear ye my voice, beloved of my tent,
Dear ones of Lamech, listen to my speech.
For Eve made answer, Cain, my son, my own,
O, if I cursed thee, O my child, I sinned,
And He that heard me, heard, and said me nay:
My first, my only, one, thou shalt not go;
And Adam answered also, Cain, my son,
He that is gone forgiveth, we forgive:
Rob not thy mother of two sons at once;
My child, abide with us and comfort us.
Hear ye my voice; Adah and Zillah, hear;
Ye wives of Lamech, listen to my speech.
For Cain replied not. But, an hour more, sat
Where the night through he sat; his knit brows seen,
Scarce seen, amid the foldings of his limbs.
But when the sun was bright upon the field,
To Adam still, and Eve still waiting by,
And weeping, lift he up his voice and spake.
Cain said, The sun is risen upon the earth;
The day demands my going, and I go.
As you from Paradise, so I from you:
As you to exile, into exile I:
My father and my mother, I depart.
As betwixt you and Paradise of old,
So betwixt me, my parents, now, and you,
Cherubim I discern, and in their hand
A flaming sword that turneth every way,
To keep the way of my one tree of life,
The way my spirit yearns to, of my love.
Yet not, O Adam and O Eve, fear not.
For He that asked me, Where is Abel? He
Who called me cursed from the earth, and said
A fugitive and vagabond thou art,
He also said, when fear had slain my soul,
There shall not touch thee man nor beast. Fear not.
Lo, I have spoke with God, and He hath said.
Fear not; and let me go as He hath said.
Cain also said (O Jubal, touch thy string),
Moreover, in the darkness of my mind,
When the night’s night of misery was most black,
A little star came twinkling up within,
And in myself I had a guide that led,
And in myself had knowledge of a soul
Fear not, O Adam and O Eve: I go.
Children of Lamech, listen to my speech.
For when the years were multiplied, and Cain
Eastward of Eden, in this land of Nod,
Had sons, and sons of sons, and sons of them,
Enoch and Irad and Mehujael
(My father, and my children’s grandsire he),
It came to pass, that Cain, who dwelt alone,
Met Adam, at the nightfall, in the field:
Who fell upon his neck, and wept, and said,
My son, has God not spoken to thee, Cain?
And Cain replied, when weeping loosed his voice,
My dreams are double, O my father, good
And evil. Terror to my soul by night,
And agony by day, when Abel stands
A dead, black shade, and speaks not, neither looks,
Nor makes me any answer when I cry
Curse me, but let me know thou art alive.
But comfort also, like a whisper, comes,.
In visions of a deeper sleep, when he,
Abel, as him we knew, yours once and mine,
Comes with a free forgiveness in his face,
Seeming to speak, solicitous for words,
And wearing ere he go the old, first look
Of unsuspecting, unforeboding love.
Three nights are gone I saw him thus, my Sire.
Dear ones of Lamech, listen to my speech.
For Adam said, Three nights ago to me
Came Abel, in my sleep, as thou hast said,
And spake, and bade, Arise, my father, go
Where in the land of exile dwells thy son;
Say to my brother, Abel bids thee come,
Abel would have thee; and lay thou thy hand,
My father, on his head, that he may come;
Am I not weary, father, for this hour?
Hear ye my voice, Adah and Zillah, hear;
Children of Lamech, listen to my speech:
And, son of Zillah, sound thy solemn string.
For Adam laid upon the head of Cain
His hand, and Cain bowed down, and slept, and died.
And a deep sleep on Adam also fell,
And, in his slumber’s deepest, he beheld,
Standing before the gate of Paradise,
With Abel, hand in hand, our father Cain.
Hear ye my voice, Adah and Zillah, hear;
Ye wives of Lamech, listen to my speech.
Though to his wounding he did slay a man,
Yea, and a young man to his hurt he slew,
Fear not, ye wives, nor sons of Lamech fear:
If unto Cain was safety given and rest,
Shall Lamech surely and his people die?
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Happy Mother's Day
O Mary, Mother of God,
You are my everlasting Mother,
You help me and protect every one of us,
Whatever it might be, unlike other;
O Mother dear,
You are my most beloved Mother,
With your two hands you did so much,
It is beyond any words thinkable.
Comfort thy O Mother,
And endeavor to do,
What is conducive to
The happiness of her heart.
O Mother, Mary
Give us all the blessings and unconditional love,
Taking care of us all the time,
Thank you so much, O Mother Mary.
Mothers around the world,
The burden and suffering you carry are so great,
They beat every Guinness Book world records made,
But you know your responsibilities have not ended yet.
Be sure to enjoy this joyous day,
For love is poured especially for you,
Cherish and remember this wonderful day,
For you all are the greatest mothers.
May God Bless All Mothers on Earth;
Happy Mother’s Day to Our Beloved mothers.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The Wind-Flower
Thou lookest up with meek confiding eye
Upon the clouded smile of April's face,
Unharmed though Winter stands uncertain by
Eyeing with jealous glance each opening grace
Thou trustest wisely! in thy faith arrayed
More glorious thou than Israel's wisest King;
Such faith was his whom men to death betrayed
As thine who hear'st the timid voice of Spring,
While other flowers still hide them from her call
Along the river's brink and meadow bare.
Thee will I seek beside the stony wall,
And in thy trust with childlike heart would share,
O'erjoyed that in thy early leaves I find
A lesson taught by him who loved all human kind.
poem by Jones Very
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