[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 152 (2006), Part 6]
[Senate]
[Pages 8110-8111]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                              MOTHER'S DAY

  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, I thank my distinguished and able friend 
from Alabama. I thank him for his reference to Mother's Day. I do 
indeed have some remarks that I want to make in reference to Mother's 
Day.
  Mr. President, the irises are blooming, their beauty as refined as a 
Japanese print. Roses are spilling their sweet perfume into the air. A 
bountiful harvest of sweet, red strawberries is making its way into 
pies and shortcakes. The phones are busy at the florists around the 
country. The signs are clear that this coming Sunday the Nation will 
again observe the annual celebration of that great day, Mother's Day. 
Mother's Day is beloved by florists, by candy makers, by greeting card 
producers, by phone companies, and by restaurants, for it is a busy day 
indeed for them. But the day is also beloved by mothers, for it is on 
this one day, more than any other day, that they receive credit for 
their favorite and most important job. This coming Sunday, mothers will 
be showered with affection, waited upon, called upon, and honored. They 
deserve all of it, every bit of it.

     It is the little things that count
     And give a mother pleasure--
     The things her children bring to her
     Which they so richly treasure . . .
     The picture that is smudged a bit
     With tiny fingerprints,
     The colored rock, the lightning bugs,
     The sticky peppermints;
     The ragged, bright bouquet of flowers
     A child brings, roots and all--
     These things delight a mother's heart
     Although they seem quite small.
     A mother can see beauty
     In the very smallest thing
     For there's a little bit of heaven
     In a small child's offering.

  A mother stays with you throughout your life. Her words and her 
actions resonate. Yes, we can hear her voice echoing across time when 
we repeat to our children the lessons that mother taught us: ``Sit up 
straight,'' ``use your napkin,'' ``stop fidgeting and pay attention,'' 
Do you remember? She said those things to us. ``Say thank you,'' and 
``if everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you jump, too?''
  Every mother molds and shapes her children in ways large and small, 
from lessons as important as treating others with thoughtfulness and 
courtesy to tasks as small as how to fold laundry. Years later, as we 
teach our own children to fold laundry, we might smile to recall that 
it was our mother--your mother--who taught us how to fold a shirt in a 
particular way. It is also

[[Page 8111]]

probable that she was teaching you to fold it in the same way her 
mother had taught her--that is the way it is, you know--just as her 
mother taught her courtesy and just as she taught you. Those gentle 
hands carried the ingrained lessons of many generations, lessons honed 
and reinforced over many generations.
  On Mother's Day, when we honor mothers all across the Nation, we also 
honor grandmothers and great-grandmothers, whether or not we were 
fortunate enough to have known them in life. ``Children and mothers 
never truly part, bound in the beating of each other's heart.'' So 
wrote Charlotte Gray, and her words speak to the heritable nature of a 
mother's love. A mother's love. It passes through the generations like 
our own DNA.
  Mothers also model efficiency. Mothers were the earliest adopters of 
``multitasking,'' long before such a phrase had even been coined. 
Modern appliances make mothers even more efficient, simultaneously 
washing and drying clothes while cleaning the house, making dinner, 
keeping up with the news, and monitoring their children's homework. In 
today's busy world, working mothers must master such multitasking, and 
many do it with amazing dexterity, juggling work and family and all of 
their children's outside activities with all of the skill of a circus 
act. You know how it goes. Mothers are also the lifeblood of many 
activities important to their children, from scouting to athletics, 
parent-teacher associations to Sunday school, music lessons to swim 
teams. The phrase ``soccer mom''--have you heard that phrase? It 
accurately reflects a wide swath of American culture.
  And still mothers find time to nurture, to cuddle, to listen, to 
heal, and to teach. Henry Ward Beecher observed that ``the mother's 
heart is the child's schoolroom.'' Think about that. This is surely 
true, for with every action, every look, every word, be they soft and 
loving or briskly authoritative, mothers teach their children.
  Their influence upon the world is incalculable. George Washington, 
the first President of our great country, that great general who fought 
at Valley Forge, said:

       My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am 
     I owe to my mother. I attribute all my success in life to the 
     moral, intellectual and physical education I received from 
     her.

  Abraham Lincoln said:

       I remember my mother's prayers and they have always 
     followed me. They have clung to me all my life.

  He also said:

       All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.

  Andrew Jackson noted about his mother:

       There was never a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove 
     and brave as a lioness. . . . The memory of my mother and her 
     teachings were, after all, the only capital I had to start 
     life with, and on that capital I have made my way.

  Booker T. Washington. Let's hear what he said. He said:

       In all my efforts to learn to read, my mother shared fully 
     my ambition and sympathized with me and aided me in every way 
     that she could. If I have done anything in life worth 
     attention, I feel sure that I inherited the disposition from 
     my mother.

  The leaders of our future are being molded and shaped right now by 
their mothers. It is hard to imagine that those small faces being wiped 
clean by their mother's hand might someday smile at us from the Oval 
Office, or that those chubby fingers might someday operate dangerous 
machinery. But that childish confidence is fostered by their mother's 
love, urged on by her unwavering support, and raised up by her tender 
sympathy. Their mother's support will give them the wings to fly high 
and to achieve great success.
  I am sure that these future leaders will someday echo the words of 
Washington, Lincoln, and Jackson in crediting their mothers for their 
success--their angel mothers.
  I have no recollections of my mother. She died on Armistice Day 1918. 
She told the faithful couple who raised me: Take the baby--I was a 
baby--and three older brothers and a sister. Take the baby. Keep him as 
your own. And she went away. I am sure that her prayers have followed 
me and that today she looks down from Heaven waiting. I don't remember 
seeing her in this life, but I shall have the opportunity to see her 
someday.
  Every child deserves a mother worthy of such sentiments. And as a 
nation, we are fortunate to possess so many wonderful mothers.
  There is a poem called ``Mother's Love'' that I would like to recite 
at this moment. ``Mother's Love":

     Her love is like an island
     In life's ocean, vast and wide;
     A peaceful, quiet shelter
     From the wind, the rain, the tide.
     'Tis bound on the north by Hope,
     By Patience on the West,
     By tender counsel on the South,
     And on the East by Rest.
     Above it like a beacon light
     Shine Faith, and Truth, and Prayer;
     And thro' the changing scenes in life
     I find a haven there.

  Mr. President, my own dear mother waits for me.
  I would like to reflect on this great old poem, ``Rock Me To Sleep,'' 
and I dedicate it--it is not my poem, but it is the one I love--I 
dedicate it to my dear wife Erma, who was a wonderful mother to her 
children, and to all the mothers throughout this broad land. Let us 
think of them. They thought of us. They rocked us. They gave us 
comfort. They nurtured us. Think of them, the mothers of America.


     Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight,
     Make me a child again just for to-night!
     Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
     Take me again to your heart as of yore;
     Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
     Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
     Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;--
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years
     I am so weary of toil and of tears--
     Toil without recompense, tears all in vain--
     Take them, and give me my childhood again!
     I have grown weary of dust and decay--
     Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away,
     Weary of sowing for others to reap;--
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
     Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you!
     Many a summer the grass has grown green,
     Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
     Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
     Long I to-night for your presence again.
     Come from the silence so long and so deep;--
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Over my heart in the days that are flown,
     No love like mother--love ever has shown;
     No other worship abides and endures--
     Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
     None like a mother can charm away pain
     From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
     Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;--
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
     Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
     Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
     Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
     For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
     Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
     Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep:--
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

     Mother, dear Mother, the years have been long
     Since I last listened your lullaby song:
     Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
     Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
     Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
     With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
     Never hereafter to wake or to weep;
     Rock me to sleep, Mother--rock me to sleep!

  Mr. President, I yield the floor and suggest the absence of a quorum.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
  The legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
  Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the order for 
the quorum call be rescinded.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.
  Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, what is the order now?
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senate is in morning business.
  Mr. KERRY. I thank the Chair. I will proceed in morning business.

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