The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1931-11-19
A TRIBUTE

ter OF Mrs. Mary Stanton OF oakland,
in letter addressed to her by Mrs.
Kate R. Rasche, which The Repubi-
can is permitted to publish:
Blessed are they that die in the
Lord; they rest from their labors and
their works follow them.
My Dear Mrs. Stanton:
You can truly pray thus: II have
loved, o Lord, the innocence and the
beauty of the bright children with
which Thou hast blest the lives of my
late beloved husband and myself. With
angel voices lowering over the celes-'
trial entrance, chanting their an
thems, Welcome home, thou good and
faithful the father gone on before
of Sister Mary Jarlath, was looking
out, waiting with open arms to enfold
his exceedingly deserving child within
them, to take her hand and lead her
before the radiant throne to the Eter-
nal Majesty, murmuring, we return
TO Thee, o, God, this thank offering;
this precious gift Thou Thyself hast
selected, out of the many treasured
gifts and blessings Thou hast show
cred upon u.s."
We, your many, many deeply SYM
pathetic friends who mingle our tears
with your own, do not expect to cease
weeping because Armistice Day,
Thanksgiving, also Christmas joys
and happiness are afloat upon our at
mosphere, but we can let our tears
be tears of rejoicing and gratitude in
that your dear child is passing these
and all future happy festivals with
the joyful noble line of Barlow-Stan-
tons and the other many relatives
who have arrived.
Like our brave dead who fell in the
terrible battle of the Meuse-Argonne,
Sister Mary Jarlath died for noble
cause. She gave up her young life,
her holy all, to the God who had en-
bowed her with the self-abnegation,
rare courage and true prayerful piety
of saint.
More than 100000 American SOL
diers participated, were in the divis-
ions that formed the spearhead of the
counter attack against the Chateau
Thierry salient. The frightful fight
of the Meuse-Argonne was begun,
lasting At days of intense slaughter
ing. Supplies were constantly being
carried to the fighters by brave, fear
less, the undaunted. In the meantime
high-explosive shells were bursting
all about them, moving them down,
while helpful hands fell in line to
"carry on smoothly" without even
the stop of comma.
Pens of Industrious, interchangeable
writer's are daily pushing forth blaz-
| ing chronicles of war and of war he
roes, but only Gods efficient recording
angel tells of the cruel battle of end
less days and nights in constantly
sweltering climate, without any let
up or relief, where our young Ameri-
can missionaries have chosen to help
in the rescue of furnishing precious
souls for Gods Kingdom. Anyway,
who wants to fool time reading what
a recording angel writes? One ap-
preciative soul out of hundred; may
be one out of thousand.
There is no supply train following
on the foreign mission battlefield.
If dollar is squeezed out of our van
ity case, after hearing the recital of
some missionary's pitiful hard luck
story, we pass on feeling broke. How
did we come to allow our heart to run
away with our head? These do not
take the time necessary to understand
or study the why of the foreign mis-
sions.
Why should a girl of talent, of
every kind of ability, highly educat-
ed and accomplished, choose to work
among a few out-of-her-way souls in
a field afar, when she could be emf
nently useful at home doing the same
work-saving souls? Because intelli-
gence and it's twin-sister, education,
has broadened her mind, opened a
passage way into her heart to let in
all neglected suffering humanity, be
their color black, yellow or white.
| There are plenty volunteers to fill
the home missions who would fall over
if asked to work among the heather,
who would need supply trains with
delicacies to keep up their morale,
who would not live for the sweet
Lords sake day in and day out on the
natives grub of maize, rice, curry and
muddy water.
| Sister Jarlath laid her beautiful
young life, exquisite with every re-
finement of birth and of culture upon
the altar of self-sacrifice. She closed
her eyes and entered her last long
sleep in the exile of Dacca, India. Her
lone grave is there under the green
waving, prayerful palms, six meagre
| fy,o~.. o,,x, h. Abo foak