The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1892-01-01
nipbt God honored motherhood. Two

night God honored motherhood. Two
angels on their wings might have
brought an infant Saviour to Bethle
hem without Mary's being there at
all. When the villagers on the morn
ing of December rs awoke, by divine
arrangement and in some unex-
planned way the child Jesus might
have been found in some comfortable
cradle of the village. But no, mol
Motherhood for all time was to be
consecrated, and one of the tenderest
relations was to be the maternal re-
iation and one of the sweetest words,
mother.
Tn all ages God has honored good
motherhood. John Wesley had a
good mother; st. Bernard had a good
mother: Samuel Budget good mo-
Their: Dodd1idge good mother;
Walter Scott good mother; Benja-
min West a good mother. In great
audience, most of whom were Chris
tians I asked that all those who had
been blessed Of Christian mothers
arise. and almost the entire assembly
stood up. Don't you see how impor-
tant it is that all motherhood be con-
secrated2
WHY did Titan, the Italian artist,
when he sketched the Madonna, make
it an Italian face3 Why did Rubens,
the German artist, in his Madonna,
make it a German face2 Why did
Joshua Reynolds, the English artist,
in his Madonna, make it an English
face2 Why did Murillo, the Spanish
artist, in his Madonna, make it
Spanish face2 | never heard, but |
think they took their own mothers as
the type of Mary, the mother of
Christ. When you hear some one, in
sermon or grafton, speak in the alb
stract of good, faithful, honest
mother, your eyes fill up with tears,
while you say to yourself, ''that was
my mother.
The first word a child utters is apt
to be Mother" and the old man in
his dying dream calls Mother
mother!" 1t matters not whether
she was brought up in the surround
ings of city and in affiuent home,
and was dressed appropriately with
reference to the demands of modern
life. or whether she wore the old
time cap and great round spectacles,
and apron of her own make, and knit
your socks with her own needles,
seated by the broad fireplace, with
great backlog ablaze, on winter
night
It matters not how many wrinkles
crossed and recrossed her face, or
how much her shoulders stopped with
the burdens of a long life, if you
painted Madonna, hers would be
the face. What gentle hand she
had when we were sick, and what
voice to soothe pain, and was there
any one who could so fill up room
with peace and purity and ight2
And what sad day that was when
we came home and she could greet
us not, for her lips were forever still.
Come back, mother, this Christmas
day, and take your old place, and as
ten or twenty or fifty years ago
come and open the old Bible as you
used to; read and kneel in the same
place where you used to pray, and
look upon us as of old when you
wished us merry Christmas OF a
happy New Year. But no! That
would not be fair to call you back.
You had troubles enough and aches
enough and bereavements enough
while you were here. larry by the
throne, mother, till we join you
there, your prayers all answered,
and in the eternal homestead of our
God we shall again keep Christmas
jubilee together.
But speak from your thrones, all
you glorified mothers, and say to all
these, your sons and daughters, words
of love, words of warning, words of |
cheer. They need your voice for
they have travelled far and with |
many a heartbreak since you left |
them, and you do well to call from
the heights of heaven to the valleys
of earth: Hail, enthroned ancestry! |
We are coming Keep place right
beside you at the banquet.
Slow footed yearsl More swiftly run
Into the gold of that unsetting sun;