The wageworker., 1910-05-06

Let that date be firmly fixed in your
minds. And remember that the sign
and token Of your remembrance Of
your good mother-be she living or be
she dead-is carnation Of pure white,
or some other white flower, worn in
your buttonhole.
A simple little thing, my boy, but
it means a lot to you. If you have
reached that point where you think
wearing little flower in memory of
your mother is "sissyfed," or that it
is sign that you are "softy," then
God help you, my boy. You need it.
There is only one place for the boy
who is too far gone to be willing to
wear little flower in remembrance of
the mother who bore him. That place
is where they build the big stone walls
and keep men walking around on top
with large-calibre guns ready to hand.
"Mother's Day" ought to be great
anniversary. 1t ought to be so gen
orally observed that it would deplete
every hothouse and greenhouse in the
land. 1t ought to be the most sacred
day in all the year to every boy and
girl, to every man and woman, In all
the land, for the most sacred word in
our language is the word mother"
1t makes no difference, so far as OBJ
serving the day is concerned, whether
your mother is still in the land of the
living, or whether she has gone to that
reward which awaits every woman who
has fulfilled the sacred obligation of
wifehood and motherhood. If she is
still on earth to give you the benedic-
ton Of smile, it will cheer her heart
to see her boy paying her the delicate
little tribute Of wearing flower in her
honor on Mothers s Day." If she has
laid down life s burden be sure she will
look down from above and smile to
see her boy wearing that flower in her
= memory. And as the fragance of that
little flower greets your nostrils, you
will grow better and better as the
hours go by. It would be hard to ina
gine boy doing anything very bad
while the lapel of his coat is adorned
by a little flower worn in memory OF
his angel mother
Scattered all over this broad land
are young men-and old men-to whom
the word mother is dim memory. So
long have been the years since they
felt the touch o. a vanished hand, or
heard voice that is stliled, that tfc
mere " ntion O: the na:"c brings &
choke in the throat. The only line
that holds them fast to the good is the
memory Of sweet face that bent
above them when as boys they knelt at
er. Many year has gone by since
prayer crossed their bearded lips, but
that dim memory still clings and they
never entirely let 60 of the good. A
white flower worn by such men on
"Mother's Day" will do more to bring
them back than any words the preach
er may say.
We've seen men whom the average
observer would say had sunk too low
to be touched by any appeal. Yet
we've seen the lips Of those men culver
and their eyes dim with tears at some
little song about mother" or heard
some sweet-voiced Salvation Army las
sic tell Of the old, old days when moth
er's hand wiped away every pain and
her voice cured every childish heart
ache. Maybe there has been man
now and then so low in the scale that
he could not be touched, but in thirty
years of buffeting with the world we've
never seen one.
"Mother!' All, what tender memor-
les the mere mention Of the sacred
name brings up from the recesses OF
the mind. Memories of the old days
when life was only sunshine and love
was young and fair. Memories of old
days when the scent of clover was the
sweetest, when the skies were the blu
est, when friends were the truest, and
when there was always sure and safe
refuge in mothers s arms fom every
cruel wind that blew. Memories Of
cheerful freside, of sweet voice
grooming the lullabies of childhood, or