Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1915-10-27

our middle age she Is the calm snow .
capDed submits to which the human
spirit may attain; above the s.o.s'
out Of the clouds. In stiii sunsn''ie'
ageless, serene, eternal.
There are moments IN IKE wac"
mothers conduct seems to us lhAoe-
quate. She has great deal more to
saw than We wish she did when the
football season comes round; she mas
less to say than we wish she dio IN
the era Of calf love. Her too great
zeal in the one case; her TOO nttie
zeal in the other are scores against
her at the time. They are likely TO
be wiped out later.
Young men suppose themselves 10
be in love with a woman. As Ola men
they discover themselves to have peeh
in love with mother. A motnef
Is always beautiful always holy. TO
the eye that sees. she Is beautifui
under rags, in filth. amid squaior,
under cloud Of dishonor; to the heart
that knows she 10 holy even amid the
follies Of selfish and extravagant ex-
penditures Of wealth.
With that gentle irony the mother
looks on all the hot fevers OF male
ambition, on all the mad RACES OF
male statecraft as on the lead-soi-
diers and -blocks OF the
nursery. She knows man to be the
child he is. She has one use for him.
and one alone; to be father. His
other tolls and RACES she views indul-
gently as whimsies that may amuse
him whilst she fulfills her supreme.
appointed task Of Nature. 1t is the
consciousness Of that high task which
sheds about her face and body a GER
tain dignity, certain touching
sweetness, which awes and abashes
all men in her presence.
At which age is mother most
beautiful? In her youth, when she
gathers her tiny. yielding bodies Of
children in her arms and cuddles
their cheeks into that haven hollow
Of her shoulder? In her summer
splendid maturity, when she utters
ripe wisdom and sends us, Spartan
like, to our life battles to return with
our shields or upon them? Or In
those last years, when her old, bright
eyes, beneath calm brow and corona
of soft. white hair, shine with depth
and purity of spirit to give us a
catch at the heart?
AS children we bump our heads
and run to lay them in her lap. AS
men we bruise our souls and seek the
same sanctuary. And she looks out
over us with eyes that pierce the
ages. What does she see? She can
not tell US. But she sees.
At the graves Of her children she
stands sorrowing but undismayed,
for she knows. deep within her soul,
that she Is stronger than death.
Fathers may abandon their chill
dren: but the mother never. She
follows us up to the Jail gates, and
down to the deepest gutter. Hers
was the anguish of creating us, and
hers is the reward, the proudest
mark Of moral rank-loyalty un-
dying.
At the gates of life stands the
mother to welcome us; and to bid us
Hail and Farewell she stands at the
gates Of death.
And at the last she lets go of our
aAAhuo " Walk vi OuI INTO Tile TREAT
Unknown, wistful but unafraid, like
a little trusting child told to 60 into
the dark and nothing will harm her.
And nothing will harm her.
You, therefore. whose mothers live.
think of a time when they will not.
And you whose mothers live n.
longer. think Of the many motherA
who do.
Blow. trumpets. Blow your noblest
hymn in her triumph; her triumph
over dishonor. over ruin. over des-
pair, over war. over death. She has
conquered, and there is no victory
but hers
Men Of the race, stand up; stand
up at proud salute to that author of
your race. that crown of womanhood,
the mother of us all,
UNCLE DT1nY lev