The Birmingham age-herald., 1922-05-14

Lords Day in the whole year on which the preacher is not bombarded with appeals to present special causes to his people.
 The greatest and best loved of all these new days on our revised cal endar is Mothers Day. Angel fingers ring the mystic bells of remembrance in our souls which herald its ap- proach. A gentle voice out of the far away and long ago, a voice of ex- quisite beauty and tenderness like the echo of loves lullaby. whispers 10 us, Son, remsmber' Remember the old homo, the flowers in the garden. the trees in the old orchard. the pie lures on the walls. the old clock with its funny strike, and that dear. fa- miliar face. Remember how you were loved and served, sheltered and spoiled. How wonderful it all was. and how blind you were.
 Time and time again have ws not been arrested in our weak, impui- sive moments. as tho primrose path
 
 of an unseen hand and the same tr- resistible whisper, Son. remem ber.'
 These are the sentiments and the memories Mothers Day always awakens in our hearts. They are the deepest and most powerful emotions of our souls. We shyly cover them up lest they be profaned by any coarse and vulgar touch. We dread having our most sacred sentiments turned into a cheap and slushly sen timentality. That Is real danger of Mothers Day. It Is only as we en- ter Into the sanctity for our spir- itual worship in the light of the Highest that we will avoid that peril. It is there alone that we will hear the voice of Him who created the loxeliness and redeemed the glory Of motherhood. saying to us, Son, re- member-mother.
 The first thing that Son. who re- membered His mother with the last words from His cross. will teach us, I believe, is this: It Is not the biological but the spiritual fact of motherhood we should most deeply ponder. Many of the very best mothers in this world have never had and never will have any children of their own after the flesh. They have been denied that sovereign joy. What this loss and suffering means to them let Ada Cambridge describe in that touching little poem she calls, The Virgin Mother
 "'Time that heals so many sorrows
 keeps mine ever freshly aching. Though my face is growing furroWed
 and my brown hair turning white Still mour my irremediable loss.
 asleep or waking;
 Still I hear my sons voce caHins,
 Mother in the dead of night. And am haunted by my daughters
 eyes that will never see the light.
 70 the children that mi ght have
 had! My children lost forever, o the goodly years that mi ght have
 been, now desolate and bare 0 God, what haxe I lacked what
 have I done. that I should never Take any birthright like the others
 take the crown that women wear. And possess the common heritage to
 which all flesh is heir
 "sTheSe are the 0ohle women who give their lives to the service of the worlds little ones. These are the great army of teachers and nurses and friends of the children. These are they who mother the neglected the poor and the needy-the lost. helpless lambs of the flock. For there are so many children in this world who have mothers after the flesh only--biological mothers-who would be better off if they had none. It Is to those the self-appointed mothers minister in His name and for