Public domain. This passage is in the public domain. Robert Louis Stevenson died in 1894, more than 70 years ago, and the work was first published in 1885. You can copy, print, read aloud or sell it without asking permission; a credit is kind but not required. The text is copied word for word from the Project Gutenberg edition linked here.
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
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, O mother o’ mine!
Oh, there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a 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 the 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.
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime;So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
Happy heWith such a mother! faith in womankindBeats with his blood, and trust in all things highComes easy to him, and though he trip and fallHe shall not blind his soul with clay.