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Amor Patrio
After the fashion of the ancient Hebrews who offered in the temple the first fruits of their love, we in a foreign
land, dedicate our first accounts to our country, enshrouded among the clouds and mists of morn, always
beautiful and poetic, but ever more idolized in proportion as we are absent and away from it Under
whatever aspect, whatever its name, we love her (patria) always just as the child loves its mother in the
And how strange! The poorer and more miserable she is, the more we suffer for her, and the more she is
idolized and adored; yes, there is real joy in suffering for her
Child, we love to play; adolescent, we forget it; youth, we seek our ideal; disillusioned, we weep and go in
quest of something more positive and more useful; parent, the children die and time gradually erases our
pain just as the air of the sea slowly effaces the shores as the boat departs from them. But, love for country
can never be effaced, once it has entered the heart, because it carries in itself the divine stamp that makes