This Halloween clip art image is from an antique postcard. I love how the witch is balancing an owl on her finger, while the black cat looks a little bit on the scrawny side. It’s a nice illustration that you can use as free clip art for your next artistic project. Enjoy!
This brief little Victorian sentimental poem about Mother is another selection from Golden Thoughts on Mother, Home and Heaven, published in 1881. I’ve found a darling antique image of a girl standing proudly beside her beloved baby doll, nestled safely in a lovely wicker baby doll carriage. I think this old illustration would make a great image for a vintage Mother’s Day card or baby shower announcement/invitation. Enjoy!
When we are sick, where can we turn for succor,
When we are wretched, where can we complain?
And when the world looks cold and surly on us,
Where can we go to meet a warmer eye
With such sure confidence as to a mother?
A curious grotesque by Alice B. Woodward from a slim volume entitled Bon-Mots of the Eighteenth Century, edited by Walter Jerrold an published by J.M. Dent & Co at Aldine House, London, 1897.
Does she remind you of anyone? Add a cell phone to her hand and you probably have seen her in line at the grocery store. Put her behind a desk, and she’s every overbearing infantile psychopath you’ve ever had to deal with. I could go on, but you know the type.
This poem was published in Golden Thoughts on Mother, Home and Heaven, 1881.
Mother, Home and Heaven
Mary J. Muckle
There are three words that sweetly blend,
That on the heart are graven;
A precious soothing balm they lend–
They’re Mother, Home and Heaven!
They twine a wreath of beauteous flowers,
Which, placed on memory’s urn,
Will e’en the longest, gloomiest hours
To golden sunlight turn!
They form a chain whose every link
Is free from base alloy;
A stream where whosoever drinks
Will find refreshing joy!
They build an altar where each day
Love’s offering is renewed;
And peace illumes with genial ray
Life’s darkened solitude!
If from our side the first has fled,
And Home be but a name,
Let’s strive the narrow path to tread,
That we the last may gain!
My Mother Dear
There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell,
And gentle words and fond embrace, were given with joy to me,
when I was in that happy place upon my mother’s knee.
When fairy tales were ended, “Good night,” she softly said,
And kissed, and laid me down to sleep, within my tiny bed,
And holy words she taught me then–methinks I yet can see
Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my mother’s knee.
In the sickness of my childhood, the perils of my prime,
The sorrows of my riper years, the cares of ev’ry time,
When doubt and danger weighed me down, then pleading all for me,
It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent my mother’s knee.
Published in Golden Thoughts on Mother, Home and Heaven, 1881