San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1924-03-30

years-in these lost lives. Not on,
weary evening of sleepy darning, moi
one hurried and heated summer sup
per, is really lost Nothing in life
rs worth while if these hard days are
not supremely worth while-lost in
the eyes of the big world, making no
apparent impression, wearying them
selves over and over. never quite rest
cd. never quite caught up. never with
all the little stockings and trousers
and frocks completely buttoned and
mended ut the same time.
The time may come when idle and
at ease. with a comfortable balance in
the bank, and with a comfortable meal
provided, that you will look back with
longing 10 the days when they needed
y0u-when mother was their refuge
from every little sorrow of their lives.
To the worlds eye. how unspeak-
ably dull, how completely sacrificed
are the lives of the astronomer who
shuts himself up in his tower, and
the scientist who broods alone over his
tubes and mortars. the advance guard
of civilization that digs and fortIfies,
starves, broilS and freezes under
strange suns. To the worlds eye could
anything be more completely. more
stupidity wasted than the life of a sol
der? Turned through no will of her
own from loving, living, sentient
young animal full of hopes and posi-
bilities, into that little phrase cut or
cenotaph: TO our brave dead"
Yet We don't call these lives vast
2 Ia ca
TO die; the eight million splendid boys
who were wiped out in four hideous
years of slaughter. There was duty
unavoidable sometimes, sometimes
gladly done, there were flags. music,
tears, kisses, uniforms-there was all
the glory of literature and history
behind them. We escorted them into
the Valley of the Shadow splendidly.
But it is not so easy to die daily:
to offer ones youth, ones beauty,
ones freedom and personal desires up
on the altar of these exacting little
desDots who will be Americans tomor-
row-whO will indeed be America, to-
morrow. 1t is not romantic. There Is
no band and no crowd to awaken one
in cold winter dawn, to stagger with
one into an odorous, icy kitchen. to
get oatmeal boiling and graham bread
sliced. There is no Congressional
Medal of Honor for the widowed
mother who has given her country
good women and good men. The man
made world does not see the value
of this service yet. Perhaps it will
not for another hundred years.
But after all, the mother has her
reward. She can see necessity and
trial developing them gradually. She
finds a clumsy, sweet little son be-
side her awkwardly wiping the dishes
on an especially tired night. She
knows that only little ease and lux
ury will some day seem wonderful to
this unspoiled little girl of hers.
And perhaps she will liye-as
thank God many mothers do-through
trials and exhaustion that would kill
ten warriors-live to receive that let
ter that my little American friend and
L would so much like to wrl.- this
morning:
Dearest Mother, have been long
ing for you all morning, to share
the delight of this beautiful place. You
would love it so, / have been think
ing. about you, and of all you did to
make our lives happy, of all the sac
riflces you made in those hard old
years when nobody thanked you-no-
body appreciated you"