Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1916-03-21
THE CRY OF THE HUMAN
- HEART FOR MOTHER

- - - -
Proud knight, of this most peerless
dame
Whose you count so high
ST. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless
mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head, as though
; To give that word the reverence due,
And gently said, my mother"
The gentle William Cowper wrote the
most touching. of all his poems, on
the Receipt of My Mothers Picture Out
of Norfolk" In that tenderest poem in
English literature occur these lines:
MY mother! when 1 learned that
thou vast dead,
Say, vast thou conscious of the
tears I shed?
lowered thy spirit DER thy sorrow
ing son,
Wretch even then. life's journey
just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though
unfelt, a kiss?
All, that maternal smile! 1t answers,
Yes.
/ heard the bell tolled on thy
burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee
p show away,
And turning from my nursery win
dow, drew
y long, long sigh, and wept a last
adieu!
But was it such?-It was-Where
thou are gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound
unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peace
full shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips
no more!
Thy maidens grieved themselves at
my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick
return.
What ardently / wished, l long be-
lieved,
And. disappointed still, was still de-
ceive9.
BY expectation every day besuiled.
Dupe of tomorrow even from child.
Thus many a sad tomorrow came
and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow
spent,
learned at last submission to my
lot;
But. though 1 less deplored thee.
ne'er forgot
Nothing in American literature is
more touching than these lines which
the gifted George D. Premise wrote in
his ''Reveries at Mothers Grave:
THE trembling dewdrops fall
Upon the shutting flowers-l1ke
-% souls at rest; - -
The stars shine gloriously-and all.
Save me, is blest.
Mother love thy grave:
The violet, with the blossom blue
and mild,
Waves Ger thy head-when shall it
wave
Above thy child
Oh come-while here I press
My brow upon thy grave-and, in
those mild
And thrilling tones of tenderness.
Bless. bless thy child!
Yes bless thy weeping child.
90 And DER thy urn-religion's holt
est shrine
oh. give his spirit undefiled
To blend with thine.
The tribute paid by the universal
heart of humanity to motherhood Is MOI
a matter of mere sentiment alone; ami
this fact should speak with commanding
power to universal womanhood. There is
no higher office nor wider opportunity
for any woman than that of motherhood.
Of old
Jamenting childlessness as the sorest al
niction of life. The cnildless homes are
To be pitied: there is nothing worse UNI
less it he a home in which children live
with unnatural mothers. who are so alb
sorbed in other things that the maternal
lows and duties have no charm for them.
A child. whose mother cares more for
society than for it, is something worse
than an orphan.
The voice of the reformer is heard IN
the land calling for all sorts of revolu-
tons of social institutions in the name
IF progress" but in so far as women
re led away from old-fashioned mother
hood there is no worthy progress pos
sible for them or the nation.
The passing of the old-fashloned
mother is a matter for lamentatlon-
There are left. perhaps. more such moth
ars than some suppose; but the extinc-
ton of the type would mark the doom
Of tie Republic.
Discussing the "Old-Fashioned Moth
ar" the editor of a leading periodical
said recently:
''She is but a memory. Perhaps IT Is
we'll for her. She would not feel at home
in these progressive days-she would be
a sorry figure carrying Notes-for-
Women banner and speaking at a sut-
frage meeting; she would be i'll at ease