I ran across this piece about a mother's love by Washington Irving. I can't help but marvel at it's beauty and sacrifice. When I saw this picture above, I thought it captured the spirit in this piece.
"There is something in
sickness that breaks down the pride of manhood; that softens the heart, and
brings it back to the feelings of infancy. Who that has languished, even in
advanced life, in sickness and despondency; who that has pined on a weary bed
in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land; but has thought on the mother
"That looked on his childhood," that smoothed his pillow, and administered
to his helplessness? Oh there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother
to her son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to
be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by
worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to
his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will
glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; -- and, if misfortune overtake
him, he will be dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his
name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his disgrace; and if all
the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him." W.
Irving.
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