Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 8 · column 3 of 4 · from the scan, no model involved
There is no aromatic essence quite like that powdered, musky scent of an infant held close to its mother’s breast. There is no emotion comparable to that of a new mother as she marvels at miniature perfection, and is entranced by shining, innocent eyes, sideways grins and tiny toes. If there is imperfection, her love is constant still, for this is her child. ,
To quote the contemporary writer Earl Riney, “The mother love is like God’s love; He loves us not (necessarily) because we are lovable, but because it is His nature to love, and because we are His children.’’
Mothers never cease to be mothers, but babies do grow up . . . and confused. A warm bottle is no longer the answer.
God is the answer. Thank God for mothers. Mothers, thank God.
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