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Show MEDITATION liy Nfcldon E. Baldwin "Maybe your Mother's Lonenome and blue fihe's crying for you And needing you too. That Debt of love you owe her you can never pay Why don't you take her In your arms and dry her tears away " That's rlfiht too, isn't it? Just the sentimental words of a faded melody but some how they touch a note of pathetic appeal that cannot be over looked or long forgotten. Maybe you can't take her In your arms . . . You're miles away from the old home. Maybe the routine of the office, the Job you hold, demands your present and watchful vigilence . . . The chances are that you are thinking of her. Your Mother . . . And she is thinking of you. As she sits sewing ... or as he tends the flowers that gTew around the old home her heart is crying out for the love from her loved ones . . . She's too proud and independent to demand the words from you . . . but no matter bow big you are; no matter how far distant dis-tant you are; no matter whether you're someone big ... or of the common place . . . You're still her Bill, her oally, that used to play around at her feet, and tugged at her apron strings to get your way; and who begged her for the good night kiss to send you on your way to your own dream land. Though the years have wrought changes In her household and you have grown to be the men and women of to-day . . . she, dear old Mother, still holds fast to her love for you . . . Those same two wTinkled hands stand ready to minister to your ills; those same sympathetic ears still remain ready to hear of your trials and your tribulations; and those two fading lips still thrill to the touch of your kisses and caresses. The world is large and terribly exacting in its tasks and you bew and scrape to meet it's demands ... It keeps you busy, alert, and sometimes tired after the battle is over . . . It's then that you enjoy best the friendship of your friends . . . Maybe Mothers are like that to . . . Their years of sacrifice has been Ireely given . . They have laughed at troubles, adversity, and sorrow because they were living for you . . . and no matter how many years may pass . . . they still want you to be their boy . . their gjrl . . . and they love you because of what you are . . . flesh of their ilesh and blood of their blood. . . Why not take a little time off from the cares of the day and contact mother . . . She'll enjoy it more than any gift of flowers, tokens of remembrance, or other appropriate suggestions . . . She'll appreciate those too, but somehow the sound of your voice . . . will remain a cherished memory with her to carry on through the twilight hours of life down to and through the shadow of oblivion obli-vion . . . and on to the glory she deserves for being a Mother. |