Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1920-11-12
JOURNEYS END

lJoDlS ana great many journalists are
= and will continue to be profoundly moved
by the spectacle that attended the burial of
an unknown British soldier in Westminster
Abbey yesterday and by the thought of all
France fallen quiet while an unidentified
poilu was carried to grave made for him
under the Arc de Triomphe. Too much Of
what they have been writing reveals a sort
Of passionate admiration for what they
frankly regard as supreme magnanimity or
fine condesccnsion on the part of govern
ments that permit such wide departure from
the rules Of ancient precedent. And by this
you may know that poetry and journalism
are not yet quite what they ought to be.
Why. after all, is there anything awe.
inspiring in the thought of martyred
Tommy in the Abbey or a poilu under the
Arc de Triomphe or a doughboy in a tomb
such as ordinarily is reserved for the exalted
Of the earth? Great poets are buried in
Westminster. They only wrote epics. The
soldier lived them. Kings are in the Abbey,
too. They reigned. But they reigned only
because Of the strength and the patience
and the generous faith Of men like that one
who now shares their resting place.
II infinite knowledge wrung from the fires
of hard experience makes for greatness; II
service done in travail and long journeyings
amid nameless terrors are proof OF valor,
then the soldier who was buried In West
minister Abbey fairly deserved the honors
that were done him. Wisdom came to him
in strange ways. and it is not likely that he
would have experienced any new emotion by
the sights and sounds that filled London at
his Homecoming. Flags blazed against the
sky. But they were not so beautiful as his
sacrifice. There were tears everywhere.
This man, whoever he was, must have seen
eyes he loved blinded by them when he
went away. Great guns rocked the forts at
Dover. This unnamed soldier walked into
fire such as theirs to find for others the
peace that he himself never was to know
again. All the world that stayed snugly
Mt home and read the papers and danced and
made money and walked in spotless uni
forms honored itself by honoring him, and
showed merely that its soul is little nearer
to salvation because Its heart has become
little more sensitive to the fundamental
truths of this life.
There has been a great deal Of talk about
the White Mans Burden. The English and
the French have merely done full honors for
the first time to the man who actually bears
it. And 1t Is futile to draw lines OF ma
tionaity or race between the groups OF SOL
diers who fought and died on the allied side
in the war against German aggression. They
were q nation in themselves. with purpose
higher than any single nation ever had be-
fore or since. They were the plain men of
all lands, the sinews Of empire and the hope
of the world. They have ranged and ven
tured everywhere and they have endured
every sort of pain. They have made and
broken kings, they have built and torn
down, they have settled continents and
devastated them, they have made great sac
rifces and they have been guilty OF great
follies ever since the dawn OF civilization
in their restless search for better things and
better ways Of life. They are the elect
because, when they have gone farthest, they
have gone not in answer to commands or In
search for glory, but In response to voice
that Is within their hearts. They are the
force that was prophesied, and kings are
bonored who share the tomb with one OF
IL