The Detroit times., 1915-11-23
Old Songs, Old Flowers
and Mother
sY DR.. FRANK CRANE
Copyright. 1915. by Frank Crane)

Simeon Ford, said the Sentimental
Man, when he used to run the old Grand
Union Hotel, now demolished by the
besom of progress, was wont 10 say that
he didn't care how many NEW hotels
his competitors built, SO long as none
OF them put up an OLD hotel
There are other things besides hostel
RES, castles, institutions, habits, and
wines where old age is an asset.
And the greatest of these is song. The
cleverest musical genius in the world
might compose song of such surpass-
ing originality and charm that all eX
pertS and critics would be beside them
selves with admiration Yet most of us
common mortals would pass it by. 1T
would leave us cold, while some little,
Old, dlnky melody, without genius or art.
just because 1t Is old, would sweep all our
heart-strlngS with a wild gust of pas
sion, unstOp our tear fountains and
send through us the keenest sweetness
of love and tenderness.
That melody flies swifteSt into the
soul and is SureSt to its mark, which is
fathered by time.
IL is not the tune alone, but the over
tones, the swift passing, cioud-like of
forgotten faces, the echoes of voices now
forever still, the pensive tinge of kinds
OF happiness now nevermore possible.
the fragrance as Of strange lilies blowing
i'm the twilight easements Of the past
The higher values of anything lie in
those intangible, eVaneScent qualities
that cannot be defined. The richest
treasures of love are most elusive. The
strongest comforts of faith are beyond
reason And a little scent-laden breeze
of heaven blowing in the back window
Of memory will break the heart more
certainly than the most smashing gusts
of melodrama.
'Rock Me to Sleep. Mother" That is
a poem that used TO be in the Fourth
Reader when went 10 school.
Whether it is good poetry or not /
haven't the slightest idea. Probably
not Ii bears the same relation to
great poems" that marigold, hollyhock,
and princess's feather bear to the Rose
Duchess de Brabant or the Gladiolus
Brenchlyensis.
But it was down in the garden among
the petunias and cosmos, the purple as
ters and fire-bush, that ! used to walk
with my baby and tightly clutching
mothers finger while she talked to me
precious nonsense and laughed at my
swarming fances; and somehow big
boxes of American Beauties and ST.
punches of violets do not connote that
sort of thing. Simple old things have
their niche.
don't remember much about her
views Of voting nor her social prestige,
and what her ideas on child-training,
diet and eugenics were ! cannot recall.
The main thing that sifts back to me
now through the thick underground of
years is that SHE LOVED ME-. / don't
think she knew how TO bring up chill
dren: she was too much of a child her
self. and seemed to like TO lie on the
grass with me and tell stories, or to run
and hide and scream and laugh with us
children. than to homilize us along up
the straight and narrow path.
She was always hugging me. She
would wake me up to play with me. She
would kiss me inordinately. She loved
me in rather fierce way. And / liked
il. She had sunny face To me it was
like God, and all the beatitudes saints
And singl OF all the sensations
pleasurable TO my life nothing can COM
pare with the rapture of crawling up in
to her lap and going to sleep, while she
swung 10 and fro In her rocking chair
and sang. 80
Think Of this, wonder II the woman
Of today, with all her tremendous no
tions and plans, realizes what an al
mighty factor she is in the shaping Of
her child for veal or woeH
wonder II she realizes how much
sheer love and attention count for in
child's life?
I wonder if she knows what 1t means
70 create memories that are going to stay
green when life's hotter impressions
have gone?
Thus mused the Sentimental Man.