The Kalispell bee. [volume] (Kalispell, Mont.) 1900-192?, 1903-03-13

tons. But he is away from the
mothers influence and the fathers
care; away from his boyhood world
of admiring sisters and brothers, and
somehow the country life appears
slow. He finds other companions
but they are not the innocent friends
of his boyhood days. There the merry
husking and apple pairing bees, the
homely country dance, full of fun and
frolic, where he goes home, in the
early morning with his best girl,
tired and happy; but tired only with
the rude, hearty, healthy fun. How
far away it all appears to him now.
His craving for social recreation in
our towns is met with dance halls
and variety shows. There is no
home where his mother waits to see
that her boy is all right and his room
warm. One good, social Christian
home open to him would do more
good than all our clubs in existence.
| Perhaps he attends the churches,
but they might not have been social
churches, and church going is little
| slow anyhow. So, on ne drifts with
the terrible tide of ruined hopes anu
defeated ambitions, which hurries
him downward, always downward, un-
| less some hand stronger than a
human hand rescues them from eter-
| nal shipwreck.
And our young girls, cut adrift
from home influences, must have
their natural craving for social COM
partnership gratified. Thoughtlessly
drifting along in the current of ques-
| tionable amusements until they find,
alas, no saving human hand of loving
sympathy, and God seems so far off,
It's the same old story, sad. but
true: Wasn't it pitiful. that in
whole city full of homes, she had
none? Lift her up tenderly. fash
Toned so slenderly, young, and so
| fair"
With tender touch close up we'll,
| the sweet thin lips that had secrets
to tell and over her bosom they
crossed her hands. Come away"
| they said, God understands" When
her mother knelt down and heard her
prayer, and gave her in bed her good
| night kiss, did she ever think that
all her care for ner well loved girl
could come to this?
Christ said: 'Inasmuch as We have
done it to the least of these, my
brethren. We have done it unto me-"
Here we have the whole lesson of
the science of social Christianity.
IF this Christianity does not grow
out from the heart. it cannot be put
on"
| Do we seek out the least of these?
Do we visit the poor, living without
hope. either in this life or in the
| life beyond? Do we send and carry
| flowers to our weary. discouraged
neighbor who is sinking beneath the
blight of hopeless poverty and sick
ness: Is it not often the case that
we wait until the coffin lid. covers
over the folded hands. tired no long
err: freed by death. the best friend
to her. in her desolate, wasted life?
We did not think: but now, when too
| late to gladden. the tired eyes with
| the beauty and fragrance of the flow
ers, with remorse we heap them high
on the coffin and place the waXen
| hearted lily against the marble face,
paid with suffering. but no longer
despairing. Death has taken from
the features the lines of care that
| hunger and sorrow had drawn. Death
| has been her one good friend,
smoothing away every trace of grief
and touching the thin face with the
dignity of eternal repose.
1t does not matter now to her that
we forgot. 1t does not matter to her
now that we, her neighbors. forgot
her in her loneliness and trouble;
buzz with our social duties and calls.
It doesn't mean anything to her now
that her children stand crying around
her still form, with wonder in their
eyes that mother does not under
stand them nor hear them. Then the
husband and father, who should have
been her rock in weary land, !"
stands by the side of that coffin.
humbled and awed by the look of
peace which has come with the
touch of the hand of death. God I'M
derstands.'
But my paper is growing too long.
and l will finish by quoting the
crows philosophy.
There sat crow on a lofty tree,
Watching the world go by;
He saw throng. which swept along,
| With laughter loud and high.
The crow looked down from his lofty
| tree.
tbs the way of the world said he.
Now God be thanked said the old,
| old crow,
AS he sped from his lofty bough;
The times are ill. but there's much
good still,
In the way of the world, I trow.'"