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!
Clip Art Victorian Girl with Antique Baby Doll in Wicker Baby Stroller.
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.
A horrific creature to encounter! But click on the thumbnail for a larger version that you can use as free clip art.
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 helps her daughter reach for the stars in this Victorian era woodcut illustration that you may use as free Mother's Day clip art.
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!
Original image from the book Mother, Home and Heaven. This Victorian illustration can be used as free Mother's Day clip art.
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
Leading up to Mother’s Day, I will post poetry and essays from my rather battered old copy of Mother, Home and Heaven. All content from this book will be tagged “Mother Home Heaven” so that you can easily identify the source of these wonderful tributes to Mother. The book is illustrated, but in order to pair an illustration with each poem or article I will include similar vintage illustrations or antique photographs that likewise celebrate Mother and home life; use them as inspiration for home made Mother’s Day gifts and cards, or in scrapbooking.
Illustration from Mother, Home and Heaven. A beautiful steel engraving that you can use as free Mother's Day clip art. The original caption for this illustration: Mother. From a Photograph of the original Painting, the Holy Family, painted for the Empress of Russia by L. Knaus.
Golden Thoughts on Mother, Home and Heaven. From Poetic and Prose Literature of All Ages and All Lands.
With an Introduction by Rev. Theo. L. Cuyler, D.D.
‘Tis a mother’s large affection
Hears with a mysterious sense,—
Breathings that escape detection
Whisper faint, and fine inflection
Thrill in her with power intense.
Childhood’s honeyed words untaught
Hiveth she in loving thought,
Tones that never thence depart.
For she listens—with her heart.
All that I am or hope to be I owe to my mother.
(Written Expressly For This Work)
By Fanny J. Crosby
The light, the spell-word of the heart,
Our guiding star in weal or woe,
Our talisman–our earthly chart—
That sweetest name that earth can know.
We breathed it first with lisping tongue
When cradled in her arms we lay;
Fond memories round that name are hung
That will not, cannot pass away.
We breathed it then, we breathe it still,
More dear than sister, friend, or brother;
The gentle power, the magic thrill,
Awakened at the name of mother.
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