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, 16 GOODWIN'S WEEKLY.
Af y MOTHER KNEW
(L ) j By Harry E. MacPherson.
I j O OPT beamed her quiet eyes beneath the light
, ( The mellow, yellow glow of candle there
V ' As with her best-loved book, In easy chair
She read to me; all swiftly, sweetly bright
Memories rush back, stirring my faith of old
It was the Christ-child wonder tale she told.
My mother knew
The story true.
I To me, in simple words of Childhood folk,
f She told how that far-shining day there came
1 j To earth a Baby not in cloud or flame
f '" Or other mystic way, but as today
The children come: to tender mother-joy
1 A tiny, cooing earthly-Heavenly boy.
I But such a birth! the holy seraphs sang
A welcoming and e'en a splendent star
Deserted its sky-path to point the way,
1 i And Wise Men following, found Him . . . this
, !. , I she told.
1 , : i1
it At nightfall now comes climbing to my knee
j I ' A baby, holding dimpled hands to me
i y And lisping "Daddy" as she lifts her mouth
i i Her rosebud cherub mouth for goodnight kiss".
If I believe that story of the Christ,
'Ere long, in but a year or two at most,
I'll tell it to her on a Christmas Eve
i j i Just as 'twas told to me in eve of yore
When icy branches beat against the pane
I And wood fire flickered warm light through the
' But if some doubt assails; some doubt conceived
v J - And born amid a world of woe and war,
j What shall I teach her then? What shall I say?
A speculation seed of doubt is sown
And you and I, fighting with finite things,
Grope in the dark and fear the infinite;
Repeating to ourselves: "We do not know.-"
And, as a child on parent's errand bent
Repeats the name of things for which he's sent,
So we repeat, repeat . . . "We do not know."
The ancient purity of Greece and Romo
Was mired in slime before the Savior came.
Men bowed down before vile Bacchus' shrine
All things were right side down for Vice
Was held a virtue; morals foolishness,
Until they heard those, simple marvel-words.
Then His believers gained the sway of earth
And they restored, the ancient Moral Rule.
But men, when normal feelings follow pain,
Forget their high resolves of suffering.
So mankind, blessed with all that God bestows
Upon his children knowledge: science, art
Has lost or but misplaced the faith of old;
Nor need we scan historian's far page
To learn of hell's all-woeful conquering.
For these be days which test our f,-usl we see
The god of wine and passion ft ored
To all his heathen panoplies a weis;
His temples decked with wealth so glittering
It would have mazed a sodden, sated caesar.
We see bare Vice enwrap herself in cloak
Of Art and tempting, lift the scarlet skirt
To lure, while her gay sycophants loud cry
That she is Art . . . and some believe the lie.
We see Truth, Rightness, falter, fail
While Wrong wins easily in race for Fame;
For Fame Aubition's dearest, purest bride
Is prostituted by a greed for gold
Till if a man be rich we hold that he
Is famous and we fawn upon his word.
Then hear our prayer, 0 God! and let thy spirit
Be bom again within the human heart;
Let Angels sing once more the Christina.3 Hymn
And make men take the old trail to the Star;
So shall He come upon the earth again
And salve the hurts of Truth and lift her up
No more shall sneering Vice pass mocking by
Where Virtue shrinks with her small faithful band;
and war, the curse of ages, then shall cease
"And on earth peace, good will," prevail again.
Then let them call it fancy; fabled lore;
But I shall teach my babe the story old I
The sweetest, rarest story ever told f
The one my dear old mother read of yore
And made so plain to baby on her knee 1
I know she ever told the truth to me.
My mother knew
The story true.
THE "HARVEST FESTIVAL"
WHEN the Harvest Festival was held by the
ancients, and the people gathered around
their rude altars to offer oblations to their gods
for the mercies that had been vouchsafed them
during the previous year, they doubtless, as part
of their services, recounted those mercies. They
doubtless gave thanks for the health that had
been theirs; for the harvest that had been given
them; if they had mines, for what the mines had
given them; if on the seashore, for the food that
had come in from the sea; for the fruits they had
been able to gather, and their altars were gar
nished with the flowers that they had been able
A much more extended list could be named by
the children of Utah in celebrating their Harvest
festival this year.
There can be full thanks for the harvest for
1,111 I BINGHAM ft GARFIELD RAILWAY I
' I .jl ' THE SCENIC LINE TO BINGHAM "WHERE COPPER IS KING"
1 r ' i
I i, j Just an hour and twenty minutes from Salt Lake City lands you in Bingham, where is located the largest copper mine in the world the Utah
I Copper Company's mine. A solid mountain of copper ore is a thing few people have seen, and when the opportunity is afforded to witness
this unusual sight, and the trip also embraces scenic charms unsurpassed, you should not be slow in deciding on a trip to Bingham. Leaving
t Salt Lake City, from the "Salt Lake Route" union station, via the Bingham & Garfield Railway, you are treated to a glorious ride directly I
I I across the beautiful Salt Lake valley, passing the great smelter at Garfield and concentrators of the Utah Copper Company at Arthur and
Magna, where the copper ore from Bingham is smelted, as well as passing the large plant of the Hercules Powder company, at Bacchus, which
( supplies dynamite and powder to the mines throughout this entire territory.