Birthday Is Mother’s Day

80 IMPROVEMENT ERA "This personage, whom the Indians described as having a long white beard, and as being dressed in white, remained with them for several months, and during all that time not an Indian was seen along the Virgin river or its tributaries. "When the Indians returned to their homes, my brother Nephi Johnson and myself Sextus E. Johnson called the Indians together and questioned them about the personage who had ap- peared to them out west. "They told us that his name was Nephi, the same as my brother Nephi. He told them that the 'Mormons' were their friends and they must listen to their counsels, and that in time prophets would come among them and lead them to live a better life. "They asked him how long he had lived upon the earth. He told them, but it was so many moons that they could not enumerate them, but it was many hundred years, in fact far beyond their com- prehension. "President Joseph F. Smith: We are satisfied that this per- sonage spoken of did appear to the Indians out west, and that his name was Nephi, one of the apostles of the Savior whom He chose during his sojourn upon this land. Nephi and S. E. Johnson. "Written from memory by S. E. Johnson at Colonia Morelos, Sonora, Mexico. Sept. 11, 1911." Birthday is Mother's Day. I recently read the book The Happy Habit by Mr. Joe Mitchell Chappie, editor of the National Magazine. The chapter "Birthday is Mother's day," I have much pleasure, by the kind permission of Mr. Chappie, in quoting in full for the benefit of Era readers, hoping it may give them as much pleasure as it gave me: "It is no idle sentiment that national destiny is today governed by the women in the homes. On my birthday it seems as if I am closer to her who gave me birth than at any other time, and her memory comes like a benediction in the quiet hours of meditation. All day long I seem to feel her hand upon my brow, her gentle eyes looking deep into my soul with a smile which reflects the very sunlight of heaven. "Inspired with the memory of mothers at home, how can our hearts' ideal falter?

EDITOR'S TABLE 81 "Looking backward over the years, into the dim past, one day of my childhood stands out somehow beyond all the others. I was playing in the sandpile under the maples, when my mother called me. I toddled toward her, and she clasped me to her breast, saying (how well I remem- ber the words) — 'This is your birthday, my boy, — no longer my baby.' "And I remember the answer I made: 'Why can't I alius be your baby?' Ah! little did I understand! "The succeeding birthdays we were alone together. Few words sufficed; mother and I did not talk with mere words. * * * She taught me to love the old flag for which her brothershaddied, which was always brought forth to grace my birthday. She taught me to be kind, and to try to live well every day — alas! that far-off Eden! "Then birthdays came when the serious work of life was taken up. The drives in the prairies of the West whitened with buffalo bones — marked trails of the departed bison — among cooing plovers and nodding w7ild roses. Here, close to the real vastness of primeval nature, I have communed with my mother and drank deep of the love that no human relationship can supplant. The symphony of bird song and rustling leaves brought the great mysteries of the infinite close to the finite touch. In God's own temple we worshipped, she and I. "Never have I seen a frown on that sweet face. Awaking from the turbulent delirium of fever, I saw bending over me two tender blue eyes; when I slept again, weak and weary, those wells of tenderness still watched over me. Tears — yes, let the tears come, for they water the fragrant flowers of memory. All I am or can ever hope to be I owe to that dear one. And all our nation is today or will be in the future we shall owe to the mothers. "Here's a birthday toast: 'God bless and make us ever remember them — the living and the sainted mothers.' I fully concur with the author that "It is no idle sentiment that national destiny is today governed by the women in the homes," and firmly believe that by the women of our nation finally will be worked out for the nation's benefit the solution of many of the greatest problems, the greatest of which in my opinion will be the final banishment of the liquor traffic from our great country as complete and perfect as the banishment of the slave traffic. Right here and right now I desire to digress long enough to express my hatred of this traffic in a few of the forceful "hates" from the well-known statements of ex-Governor Hanly of Indiana: "Personally, I have seen so much of the evils of the traffic in the last four years, so much of its economic waste, so much of its physical ruin, so much of its mental blight, so much of its tears and heartaches that I have come to regard the business as one that must be held and controlled by strong and effective laws. I bear no malice toward those engaged in the business, but I hate the traffic. I hate its every phase. * * * I hate it as virtue hates vice, as truth hates error, as righteousness hates

82 IMPROVEMENT ERA sin, as justice hates wrong, as liberty hates tyranny, as freedom hates oppression. "I hate it as Abraham Lincoln hated slavery. And as he sometimes saw in prophetic vision the end of slavery and the coming of the time when the sun should shine and the rain should fall upon no slave in the republic so I sometimes seem to see the end of this unholy traffic; the coming of the time, when, if it does not wholly cease to be, it shall find no safe habitation anywhere beneath Old Glory's stainless stars." Again quoting from Mr. Chappie: "Inspired with the memor- ies of mothers at home, how can our hearts' ideal falter?" With how much more force will the son of the noble and true mother be inspired to carry out his noble ideals when that mother who was so near and dear to his heart, and who was the main spring to in- spire him with noble thoughts and ideals, has passed from life! When such a mother has gone to a glorious reward, his strongest incentive comes from an intense desire to so live that his every act may meet with the loved one's approval, and also from the undying hope that he can so live that when life's battle is o'er he will be worthy to meet and associate with her throughout the countless ages of eternity. There is not a shadow of doubt on his mind that she has earned her crown and received the right to dwell forever with her Savior. I too can say of my mother with Mr. Chappie of his mother: "She taught me to love the old flag * * * * She taught me to be kind, and to try to live well every day. — Alas! that far off Eden!" — And oh, how I do hope and pray with all the power of my soul for strength to live up to her teachings. Often in public and in private I have acknowledged that all I am or ever hope to be of real and lasting worth in this life,I owe to the teachings and example of my mother. It is a pleasure to repeat and endorse without reservation the closing tribute and splendid toast with which the author ends his chapter: "All that I am or hope to be I owe to that dear one. ' And all our nation is today or will be in the future we shall owe to the mothers." "Here's a birthday toast: God bless and make us ever remember them — the living and the sainted mothers." Mr. Chappie's inspiring words brought tears to my eyes, and will no doubt do so to the eyes of others, who, like myself, have been called upon to part with a noble mother. The poem, "To My Son," is a splendid companion piece to "Birthday is Mother's day" and with pleasure I quote it: