The call of the North. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1923-1924, 1923-12-19

- Htat -e ny ~
Far away upon the dim and dis
tant rim Of crimson world. Sum
day sum broke blood-red through the
deepening haze Of ~low-hanging
clouds, waited from blood-drenched
fields of human slaughter. ;
Strange shaped objects crossed
rapidly in the murky light Of early
dawn, sailing away in opposite di-
rections, then descending rapidly to
earth. Their fall ever marked by
huge upheavals of earth, mixed free
ly with objects, strangely resembling
human limbs and hands.
Weird cries echoed through the din
Of deafening noise, as indistinct,
shadowy forms fioated upward in an
endless train, to vanish in the mys-
FERROUS sphere of Gods world, there
to register beneath the millions gone
before. Victims Of human lust for
power. -
: Smiles, froze in death on faces that
moment before were beaming with
thoughts of home and mother. In
fancy. they were again kneeling at
her dear feet, receiving the soft touch
that none but a mother can give.
Hearing words of love that no one
but she ever speaks.
Z Louder grew the wild shrek of
shot and shell as more numerous few
those things heavenward. Out across
the open fields charged the boys who
only yesterday were children around
happy mothers knee. A CHEEKY
farewell he had waved to her as the
train sped on eastward, pouring its
human flood into the grist mill of in
satiable war. p
But that was yesterday. Today the
air is thick with screaming engines
of destruction as bullet after bullet
finds it human mark, while over the
fallen comrade rushes the endless
and irresistible wave that no human
barrier can stop.
= The long hours before noon drag
slowly by, yet there is no pause for
the demon of destruction-no let-up
in the grim reaping of human souls.
The noon hour passes and the sun
light, a gift Of God to brighten the
paths of peace, grows dim as it turns
in horror, fleeing adown the Western
sky, eager to hide its face from the
bloody Western world. Yet there is
no escape, for the heather land of
the far East, the wild jungles of the
dark continent and the boosted abode
of culture and civilization echo alike
to the cry Of passing souls, torn
asunder by the heel of war.
Truly the world is a devouring
flame that feeds on the flesh of man
and God has drawn the curtain of
divinity before the torch Of human
madness. ii
On into the night goes the bhndly
shrieking shell as the worn and weary
soldier staggers ever forward to find
no rest, but a grave. 1885,.
+ The passing months have dragged
through in sleepless nights. The
gates of heaven ring loud from the
echo of millions of prayers out Of the
hearts of womanhood. All the ten
derness of their reaches out to the
unseen God for that boy who means
more than life to her. d."
Night comes at last upon the
Western front and a million hearts
breathe again that nightly prayer ere
they sink into a restless slumber
Two million eyes gaze at their starry
flags and whisper, "God keep him.
A golden. halo encircles other thou
sands as they kneel in prayer fol-
that boy who sleeps the eternal sleep
among the lilies of France. Was i,
an echo of other mothers who muir.
INJURED the same prayer more than q
century ago, as the American infan,
was struggling to loose the grip of q
tyrant's hand and her fait cal
reached a noble response from the
shores of far away France? Yes
France, and American mothers moi
American gold has paid that deb,
and paid it we'll - .1l
Slumber steal away the tired senses
and only signs torn from saddened
hearts, break the stiffness of the
night. Midnight passes slowly into
the making of another day. The
faint rays of the distant sun pain,
the Eastern sky as the dreamer
starts wildly from her bed. u,
What is that awful noise, is it the
cry of the millions dead, clamoring
for entrance at heavens gate? No
listen;. can't you hear the glad nots
in that SIRENS piercing call? Nc
fear throttles that clear echo as i.
splits asunder the chill November
air. Answer after answer raps that
twilight through and no doubt lin
gers now-IT IS PEACE-v1CToRY
AT LAST. Nothing else could put
such human feeling into that wild
din.
Smiles come again to pale faces
grown old with sadness. Mothers
fondly caress the sleeping forms to
catch the faint whisper Of Daddy