Happy Mothers’ Day, y’all!

DSCN0731This is from Barack Hussein Obama’s 2016 Mothers’ Day Proclamation. We indeed are living in strange and perverse times.

“Regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity, or marital status, mothers have always moved our Nation forward and remained steadfast in their pursuit of a better and brighter future for their children.”

But we in The League of the South prefer the wise words of Rev. Robert Lewis Dabney to apply to Southern motherhood (and womanhood in general. Rev. Dabney was speaking to our Southern women after the War for Southern Independence:

“There, in your homes, is your domain. There you rule with the sceptre of affection, and not our conquerors. We beesech you, wield that gentle empire in behalf of the principles, the patriotism, the religion, which we inherited from our mothers. Teach your ruder sex (men) that only by a deathless love to these can woman’s dear love be deserved or won. Him who is true to these crown with your favour. Let the wretch who betrays them be exiled forever from the paradise of your arms. Then shall we be saved, saved from a degradation fouler than the grave.

Be it yours to nurse with more than a vestal’s watchfulness, the sacred flame of our virtue now so smothered. Your task is unobtrusive; it is performed in the privacy of home, and by the gentle touches of daily love. But it is the noblest work which mortal can perform for it furnishes the polished stones, with which the temple of our liberties must be repaired. We have seen men building a lofty pile of sculptured marble, where columns with polished shafts pointed to the skies, and domes reared their arches on high, like mimic heavens. They swung the massive blocks into their places on the walls with cranes and cables, with shout and outcries, and huge creaking of the ponderous machinery. But these were not the true artisans: they were but rude labourers.

The true artists, whose priceless cunning was to give immortal beauty to the pile, and teach the dead stones to breathe majesty and grace were not there. None saw or heard their labours. In distant and quiet workrooms, where no eye watched them, and no shout gave signal of their motions, they plied their patient chisels slowly with gentle touches, evoking the forms of beauty which lay hid in the blocks before them.

Such is your work; the home and fireside are the scenes of your industry. But the materials which you shape are the souls of men, which are to compose the fabric of our church and state. The politician, the professional man, is but the cheap, rude, day labourer, who moves and lifts the finished block to its place. You are the true artists, who endue it with fitness and beauty; and therefore yours is the nobler task.”

May the Mothers of our people have a wonderful and blessed day!

Michael Hill