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Show THE CITIZEN ' 3 , AS GREAT AS MOTHER THINKS ME your pain. In after life you may have friends, fond, dear friends, but never will you have again the inexpressible love and gentleness lavished upon you, which none but a mother can bestow; T. Macaulay. BY O. S. MARDEN him a little hearer to his idea, to er thinks me, is a motto I make him struggle a little harder to wonder-- measure up to it. Oftentimes when once saw somewhere. What a oml girl' everything else has failed to bring a n1' ful idea this youth to his senses, and when he has to live up to! been very near the bottom of the toWe often hear the expression: How boggan, this thought of what his that mother can see any good in that can mother believed of him and expected ogly brat of hers is more than I But the mother does not of him, this mother vision of her boy, understand. has been' the salvation, the turning see her homely or defective child as other people see it. She sees her boy point in his career, the very magnet that has brought the prodigal back to growing into splendid manhood with his own. all his possibilities unfolded and given If we always measured, up to our expression. She sees him in the years . mothers ideal of us, and always kept ahead, a good husband, a good father, that as a model to work by, what a a good citizen. The fond mother does' not see her crippled girl as other peo- glorious success we might make of She looks beyond the our lives! pie see her. physical deformity and sees the beautMay I be as great as my mother y of the soul of the child. She sees thinks me.. What a beautiful motto! the superb woman, in possibility,, and makes all sorts of sacrifices so that her loved ones shall develop into the men and women God meant them to ((MAY I BE as great as my moth- 7 -- - Men are what their mothers make R. W. Emerson. them. r ' The instruction received at the mothers knee, and the paternal lessons, together with the pious and sweet souvenirs of the. fireside, are never entirely effaced from the soul. Lamennais. . The love of a mother is never exhausted, it never changes, it never tires. A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters become inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their husbands. But a mothers love endures through all; in good repute, in bad repute, in the face of the worlds condemnation, a mother still loves on, and still hopes that the child, may turn from ' - ' moth-- . wonderful things, these Ah, Through them is seen the ideal man, the one that is there to come out, the Creator intended to be developed. We do not blame the mother for the' extravagant things she sees in her boy and expects of him. do not blame, her for the dreams of power, of purity, of influence that hopes, will be his, and which, are backed all through life by her prayers. These dreams and hopes and expectations never quite forsake her, even when she sees her' beloved son behind prison bars, and has evidenced that what she. has expected and framed of concerning him will never . ers eyes! be . realized. matter hbw callous or ungrat'e-f- l a son may be, no matter how low be may sink in vice or crime,' he is al-- ; TOys sure of his mothers love, always of one who will follow him even to his grave, of one who will cling to bim when all others have fed. It is forever true, as Kipling expressed it in his beauti-J- il quite still, Mother o mine, I were drowned Mother o mine, bnow whose to me, Mother o ,? s tM o mine: in the deepest sea, 0 mother o mine: tears would come down mine, 0 mother o mine: great mother love for her her faith in him, even kikd- or the fact t 88 0 mother after he that she fallen, ePects great and good things of him that tends to strengthen and hold - Reach Heavens pearly gate, But show her that you think of her, Before it is too late. If you have a tender message, Or a loving word to say, Dont wait till you forget it, But whisper it today. Who knows what bitter memories May haunt you if you wait? So make your loved one happy Before it is too late. The tender word unspoken, The letters never sent, The long forgotten messages, The wealth of love unspent; For these some hearts are breaking, For these some loved ones wait; Show them that you care for them Before it is too late. WHAT MOTHERS HAVE DONE I saw a sleeping baby, nestled in its' tiny bed, verses on wow Dont wait until her weary steps MIRACLE poi-pfot- ly Mother Love: hanged on highest hill mine, 0 mother o mine: whose love would follow me .. Red is the mist about me; Deep is the wound in my side; Coward! thou criest to flout me. 0 terrible foe, thou hast lied! Here with my battle before me, God of the fighting Clan, Grant that the woman who bore me Suffered to suckle a Man! John G. Neihardt. No II I were Mother o In the old home far away, Sit you down and write the letter You put off from day to day. All that I am or hope to be, said Lincoln, after he became President of the United States, I owe to my angel mother. All that I have ever accomplished in life, declared Dwight L. Moody, the great evangelist, I owe to my mother. To the man who has had a mother, all women are sacred for her sake, said Jean Paul Richter. A kiss from my mother made me a painter, said Benjamin West. ! be. ; Mrs. E. L. Warner and daughter, Velma Lucille, residing Fifth East Street, this city. Paste it in your pocketbook, hang it in your room, in your office. I will try to be as great as my thinks me. Children, look in those eyes, listen to that dear voice, notice the feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand! Make much of it while yet you have that most previous of all good gifts, a . loving mother. Read the unfathomable love of those eyes; the kind anxiety of that tone and look, however slight at 1514 South . his evil ways, and repent; still, she remembers the infant smiles that once filled her bosom with rapture, the merry laugh, the joyful shout of his childhood, the opening promise of his youth; and she can never be brought to think him all unworthy. Washington Irving. BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE. By George Bancroft Griffith. t If you have a . gray-haire- d mother A dewey looking freshness, like a halo round its head. Softest little tendrels of hair like rare spun gold, Two dainty little rosebuds of hands soon to unfold. Curled up toes of satin, a tiny flutter- ing breath, This is Gods own miracle that severs life from death. Theresa Taylor. Garfield, Utah, May 8, 1928. AN AMERICAN mining engineer kidnapped in Mexico escaped by killing his four guards with a bottle. The dispatch doesn't state whether he gave them each a drink of its contents or whether he used it as a club. |