SEASON'S GREETINGS

ANOTHER, BO

When Christmas time comes and the choristers sing, With voices fresh, lilting, and true, I'd like you to know that the fond words they fing, Are things I am thinking of you. I'd like to join in and sing carols to you, But it's not as easy as that, f'm forced to report (don't you think I'm a sport?) That my voice is horribly, downright deplorablyFLAT.

So just let me sayfn my slap-happy way- ..GOOD

Another Christmas. and the world still at war. At war? Yes, more completely, more fearfully at waf than ever before since history began. All previous wars were like Sunday School picnics compared with this one. Nineteen hundred and forty-four years ago :rn inspired Man came into this world to preach a gospel previously unknown; the gospel of brotherly love, of peace instead of war, of love instead of hate, of good instead of bad, of humanity instead of savagery, of helpfulness rather than hurtfulness.

Yet at the end of that great span of time in human history we find the peoples of the entire world locked in mortal combat; more men bearing arms than ever before; more men being killed and maimed than ever before; more methods and weapons for destroying human beings, than ever before; -more destruction of human possessions than ever before; more destruction of human VALUES than everbefore * * *.

Yes, in spite of all the preaching and teaching of the loving philosophy of "The White Christ," there is more HATE in the world today than ever before in history. Not even back in the days of complete paganism was the world ever swept by such a tide of utter hate. Wonder what Jesus must think, as He contemplates the avalanche of war built on hate that has engulfed the earth? Wonder what Paul, who sold the principles of Christianity to the world nineteen hundred years ago, thinks of what goes on in this world he so eloquently pleaded with? Wonder what Luke, "The Beloved Physician," the man who gave us the story of Christmas nineteen hundred years ago, thinks of it? Wonder what Mary, who gave her only Son to the world that he might save its soul, thinks of the success of her sacrifice-and His? It occurs to me that the preachers have much fodder for interesting sermons at this Christmas time.

*x<+

Nineteen hundred years ago He walked alone through the Garden of Gethsemane, suffering that this world might be saved. And nineteen hundred years later countless millions of people, smitten by the black hand of war, walk through their own private Gardens of Gethsemane, their minds and hearts lifted in voiceless pleading that the end of this torture come soon. Going to'their knees, as Lincoln said he did "because there was no place else to go," they turn for help at this Christmas time to that Power that they have been taught "can make the wrong things right, can turn weeping into laughter," because there seems no other place to turn. "As thy day, so shall thy strength be" is the promise they rely upon.

**rf

Lest this sound too tragic, let me quickly add that the outward evidences that we see around us everywhere we go give an impression that is far from dismal or despairing. Crowds everywhere, smiling faces, jingling purses, everyone rushing around trying to find somebody that will sell them something regardless of price; something they can trade their surplus war money for. IJnreasonable and urheard-of prices for Christmas stuff? Who cares? Nobody, apparently. Ladies' purses at five times the highest price the same things would ever have brought before, have so many prospective buyers that women almost fight for the first chance to buy. Everything else in proportion. All sense of values has been lost, swept away by this overplus of inflated war money. Liquor is high, but the only kick you hear is that there isn't enough to be had, even at the price. All this in strange contrast to the fact that all of them have loved ones fighting and dying somewhere. Alexander Pope said that "the proper study of mankind, is man." IIe wasn't kidding, even then. But if he was looking for human nature studies he should have waited untilnow' * * *

Always in previous wars we waited for !'the boys to come home." Now we wait for the boys and girls, both. All over the globe faithful women in uniform are doing as fine work as the men, in trying to get this war won. The poet wrote dramatically about "when lovely woman stops to folly," but he can write a far better one now about "when lovely woman goes to battle." The story of woman's work in this war will take lots of telling and re-telling,

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We feel thetime is fcst crpprocching when we shall cgcrin be cble to serve our customers with the sqme *WYBRO" stqndcrd ol Hcrdwoods thqt has been the mark ol qucrlity lor so mcny yecrs.

To both ouroldcndnew friends we extend our sincere wishes lor a Merry Christmcrs cnd a Victorious crnd Prosperous New Yecrr. 1872 -

(Continued from Page 6) after it is all over. Sweetest story of woman at war that I know of happened in Alabama during the Civil War. A young Alabama girlis guiding a Southern soldier over trails unknown to him. The soldier is General Nathan Bedford Forrest, one of the most formidable fighters in history in addition to being an outstanding cavalry officer. Suddenly shots flew around the head of Forrest. .Instinctively the littlegirl spread her skirts wide in front of Forrest, and called tohim: "Quick! Get behind me!" For THAT is the spirit of the American woman in war.

:*:f*

One of the fine stories coming back from war circles in England. A young British officer was walking through the corridor of an army hospital when a woman in rough .attire who was busy scouring the woodwork called to him: '"Hi, young man, bring m,e some more water, will you?" The officer stopped, astonished, and said: "Dash it all, mI good woman, I'm an officer.".She looked up from her menial job and said: "We,ll, dash it all, young officer, I'm a .duchess." And so she was. And he got the water.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury, of England, says that the trouble with the world today is that we've got our price tags all mixed up. He tells about a prankster who switched the tags on some articles displayed in front of a hardware store, (they call them "ironmongeries" over 'there), and when he got through lawnmowers were being offered for sale at two for a shilling, while nails were selling for $35 each. All the values were confused. And, said the Archbishop, "that's what has happened to our civilization, and we shall not come to order and peace until our price tags tally with God's.". Not bad, eh?

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Give us this day your pint of blood, Let us not plead in vain, For on some shell-torn battlefietd, A soldier lies in pain.

Give us your blood lest sleepless nights, Your conscience lingers nigh, Whispering to yo,ur small, smug heart, "Why did you let him.die?"

-Author Unknown.

*t<rt

Frankness is the trademark of the American soldier. It is related that on the eve of the invasion of Germany, an ofEcer made a little talk to his men. "Don't let it wor.ry you if you feel scared," he said. "It's a natural way to feel under the circumstances. In fact, I might say that fear is a healthy condition for you to be in." And from the ranks came a voice that said: "Captain, you're looking at the healthiest soldier in the United States Army."