Okolona messenger. (Okolona, Miss.) 1900-current, 1906-06-20

earliest beautiful memories OF almost
every mans childhood is the recollec
ton of the lullabye melody that bis
mother sang him to sIeeep with. Some
where among things we never think OF
without reverence, is treasured for
ever that simple old folk song she
sang above our cradle. Long ago it's
music came across the sea and was
lent to a song of che South with which
every one is familiar. We can never
hear 1t without thinking Of our child
I hood and though We have heard much
of the worlds best music in our day
we have never come across anything
sweeter than that old lullaby our
mother sang. 1t is strange what a
hold these simple melodies of child
hood retain in life, however long,
however filled with changes and vicis-
situde. There is something about the
sunshine of those earlier days which
no one ever forgets. There is some
thing in their joys, though they be
ever so tleetiEg, that remains indellible.
Every now and then, in quiet hour,
the heart will heark back over the in
tervening years and remember 1T with
reverence And who will say that we
are not better men and women for
such moments of reflection, even
though they do bring back the sound
of voices that have long been silent,
and the touch of hands that are dust.
And can you recall the songH OF
course! You hear the familiar notes
again in the midst of other surround
ings, and instantly the scene is chang
ed about you. You are child again,
just for moment, and you look up,
as you did in days gone by, into face
you lcve-Oh, it may be aged and
wrinkled and homely now, but it's
still to you the sweetest face in all the
world. You looF again into eyes that
are eloquent with mothers unspeak-
able love-the purest, sweetest, hottest
feeling the human heart may know.
You feel again the comforting presence
of her who guided your first uncer-
tain footsteps, who heard you lisp your
first little words, and whose tender
solicitude for you has never ceased in
all these years. Can you recall the
song? A generation may have passed
since you heard it. Perhaps In the
corner Of some quiet cemetery the
singer lies asleep. Years and expert.
ence may have come upon you since
you heard it last from her dear lips.
Scenes may have changed, and your
feet have wandered far since then; but
never, never have You forgotten. Life
has brought You discords. but they
can't erase It. After it may have come
the other songs Of other days, but the
echo Of those early ones is with you
always. Childhood can never die. No,
do not let the lullabies so out Of fash.
ion, after all these ages in which they
have been sung over cradle and couch,
in howell and palace, and been remem-
bored by millions In whose hearts re.
mained an echo and light CT other
days. Don't rail at sentiment, you
pessimist. It is the well spring of all
that is best and hottest In our lives.
We often wonder if our young men
friends when they enter these hell re.
cruiting dives that exist not only in big
cities but in our own little town az
well, don't have to strangle and stifle
these memories pretty hard to spend
even the minutes necessary to enter
such door. And possibly If they will
dwell more on these little recollectionD
that the inclination to stray from the
path that ought not to be stony and
narrow will soon be gone.