If you
would know the value of these berries, try and purchase some
from the boys who are gathering them.
How delightful the thrill that we experienced on that lovely
morning of July as we were nearing the shrine of the nation. It
would have mattered little even though we had not tarried on our
journey here, where memories of days of the past came thronging
around us, nor little did it matter now that we saw no signs of
earlier times as we first approached the town, for in this
residence, manufacturing and thriving business center, fluttered
hundreds of flags, giving to the place a meaning at once grand
and significant; and we seemed to catch the fervent faith, the
glad hope that must have swelled in the breasts of our
forefathers three centuries ago.
All during the morning our thoughts wandered far away from the
days of the Pilgrims, for there came thronging memories of those
absent and distant friends with whom we could never talk again,
but in whose memory we once had a place, and who will always
live in ours. These dear friends have now gone to fairer shores
and they are dwelling on the banks of the "river Beautiful,
where grows the Tree of Life."
We came to visit the relatives of these departed friends, who
have proven in those terrible days of the Meuse-Argonne that
there is more in life than its grim reality; who have taught us
that not only on the bloody field of battle but while they
calmly awaited the last command from the Master of All to make
that journey to fairer camping grounds, they were soldiers not
only serving their country under General Pershing, but loyal and
faithful servants of their country's God.
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