The Hays Free Press

"A rose to the living is more
Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead;
In filling love's infinite store,
A rose to the living is more—
If graciously given before
The hungering spirit is fled
A rose to the living is more
Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead"

A few weeks ago Memorial Day was celebrated. Everywhere, all over our country, in the tiniest country churchyard and immense city cemetery, the resting-places of all that was mortal of loved ones were heaped with flowers.
Passing through beautiful Forest Hills on that day, we chanced upon a mound so newly made that traces of the brown earth showed amidst the green of the sward. A large, expensive monument had been set—the "low green tent" was lavishly decorated with blossoms of every hue. And yet we knew and know that the one whose earthly house reposed there had gone through life for many years a-hungering—longing for the affection and appreciation that were denied her. She had done her best, had fulfilled every obligation and accepted a great many duties that did not belong to her; and through it all she carried the sunshine of a smile that was inspiring to all she met, and radiated the love and courage of a noble soul. And yet not even those near and dear to her thought to vouchsafe the word, the caress she yearned for. Her daughters—good, true women, both of them—took mother's work as a matter of course. They knew that every material necessity was fully met—what more? Ah, friends! much more. Would we might all realize the freshness and joy, an expression of love, of good-will, of comradeship, of simple understanding may bring into a heart that is lonely; and would that, having come into this realization, we might give the rose so longed for. The gift would surely yield us, too, its wondrous meed of gladness—there is no other way; and the ripple of loving-kindness, slowly widening, would touch hearts unknown to us.
Isn't it worth while? Let us give the roses now—and scatter them with generous hand.—Hearth and Home.