There came to me in the early morning, seeking her livelihood, an old woman of sixty, and she said to me imploringly: "Give me your clothes to wash, and pay me the least you please."
Woe is me! Shall an old woman wash my clothes? Where are my own hands? Weary and frail, does she look to me for succor through a few counted piasters? Then where is my mercy?! Did this woman before me have dreams in her distant yesterday?
Did the wings of youth enfold her, so that she flew exultant through a world enchanted with light? Did she once see herself, through the intuition of womanhood, at ease in a happy home among kin and friends, while the meanings of life crowded into her mind in the mold of old age, so that she hoped for a sheltered life in its shade, after the exhaustions of youth and a weary living?...
Does the old woman wish to wash my clothes? Why does she not ask for my soul, to wash it of the stains of selfishness, and to wipe from it the dust of that loathsome isolation which has kept me from feeling any being other than my own, or caring for any existence other than mine!!
With her veined hands shall she wash my clothes, while her dazed eyes gaze at the silk cloth I bought — she who, in her day, groped among the lights of the darkness for a way out of her despair?
Or shall the bones of her rigid back bow, bending strained over the heap of laundry, to earn from me a few piasters for it!!
Why does the old woman not ask for my very self, to wash from it the crust upon its generosity, and set my heart aflame with great nobility, and restore to my mind what easy living has hidden from me?
Indeed, why does she not ask for my conscience, to strip from it its sickly fancies, and whisper in my ear the word of truth about aiding the weak in the realm of deeds!! And why does she not question me frankly about the effect of learning on the soul's leap, about its place in the heart's beat, and where mercy stands within it? And where its application begins in the weeping body of the nation!
Why does the old woman not paint
for my eyes a picture of the vast throng of women like her, crying out to young hearts before they turn to stone? Why does she not show me the burning of tears on toil-worn cheeks, and the shreds of hope in aged, faltering souls...
Why does she not open her soul to me, that I might see in it what the books in my hand suggest, as I pass by her of a morning — and make me understand how she mocks their ponderous compassion tucked under my arm, while my heart lies within me trivial and cold, weaving from the evening's chants an anthem that shields her from neither heat nor cold nor hunger!
My dear old lady: take my soul and wash it, and you shall have from me whatever you please.
The American University of Beirut
Klim — the Pure, Wholesome Milk
Milk is the most economical vital food
It is man's complete nourishment; it contains the essential nutritive elements and is, relatively, the least costly of all foods.
Every day the number of children fed on Klim milk grows
Doctors always prescribe Klim milk for feeding children, on account of its superior quality
It is easy to digest and rich in benefit
Klim — the pure, wholesome milk
KLIM POWDERED WHOLE MILK
Copr. 1954 Borden Co. Internat'l Copr. Res.