The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, 1922-06-08

who, unable to feed them any longer,
have resorted to desertion as final
chance to save their children's lives.
There is always a chance that they
will be rescued by the Americans, and
it is with this one hope that the moth
ers leave their little children, praying
to God that they will be saved by the
kind and generous Americans.
Has that story of unutterable suf-
fering, of passionate love and graft
tude for what has been given, that
trusting, prayerful appeal for rescue
of children whose lives now depend
on us-has it all grown wearisome to
US? Are We tired of being "kind and
generous?" Is there no longer any
sacrifcial tenderness for little chill
dren in our hearts? Is it time to be
rid of the burden to stop our giving,
and so, through the board Of trustees
of the Near East Relief, who must act
as we dictate, to pronounce the SEN
tence of death on these thousands OF
boys and girls who have believed, to
the last moment, that we would save
them?
Mothers and fathers of America, it
is net true! You will not allow it!
Your hearts have not turned to stone!
What are a few paltry miles Of dis
tance? They cali not separate you
from that famine-stricken land, where
dead and dying children litter the city
streets. They cannot shut out from
your vision these hunger-pinched
faces and cutstretched hands! You
can shut your windows, as they did,
in very desperation, in the city of
Erivan; but the walls and means Of
little children, waiting in rain and
snow, by day and night, to be "picked
up" and clothed and fed, cannot be
shut out of your heart.
From far-away stations, by the
magic science, our homes are being
filled with song, and story and music
for the dance. But there are mes
sages more wonderful than any con-
trolled by the wizards of wireless.
They are coming now from far away,
end the story they bring is burdened
with tears. The music is not for
dancing, for those who make it can
scacre stand upon their feet. The
song, swelled to chorus of woe by
thousands of little voices that ought
to be musical with laughter, is al
ways the same: Hunger! Bread"
And with the pleading cry of the chill
dren, there comes q voice, sweet and
solemn, saying "These ere My little
ones; We are My Shepherds; Feed My
Lambs"
To catch these messages, every
American heart that has thrilled at
the laughter of little child or throb-
bed at its cry of pain, is the receiv-
ing instrument, and the messages are
broadcasted to us from the very
throne Of Heaven.
No mistake can be more tragic at
this moment thar for You to say, as
you read, "The call is not to me; /
cannot need not respond this time;
others will give, and the children will
rot have to die"
There are no others-if you turn
away. The appeal has gone through
cut the length end breadth of this
great land, and these "others" have
heard it and some have given gladly;
but too many have said, "I need not
respond this time" During the past
four months not enough has been
given to continue the care even OF
those children already gathered into
the hospitals anc orphanages, while
thousands more are waiting to be
"picked up" from the streets and
countryside.
There are no others-if you refuse.
Armenia is surrounded by bankrupt
nations, or nations struggling to keep
themselves from bankruptcy. Europe
is full of suffering and need. A
Christian race will die if America
fails at this crisis.
There are no others to love and
care for Armenia's little chi'dren-no
others but you. The vast majority are
orphans. Father is dead; mother, too
is dead; sister-if not dead is pray
ing God for death; brother is dead;
aunt and uncle, grandfather and
grandmother-all dead, the home de-
stroyed, and the lonely little girl o.
boy has no one-but you. You are
father and mother and sister and
brother-the only one in whose heart
the sad little waif can now find
refuge.
How splendidly you have given, per-
bons eor,ot;yoo in tho nast and have