The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1875-05-25
Echoes.

l..
Evading the future, touching lightly on
the present, 1strike the chords of mem
ory. and the past sends back the echo.
Wild and wierd the music comes, thrown
cut from many aglen, re5onnding from
the rocky caverns of Long Ago." and
the sound, ever varying, sweeps on, un-
needing the deep, ,heart-aches it brings.
Come, friends,go back with me-back
to life's very threshold Let me place
you where / once stood, and lead you
up to the now, over the sunny meadows
of childhoods fair and fertile ground.
Tread with me the hard, firm earth of
the.present, back into the shadows of
the past Echoes. don't you hear them
COMING f,ys;s usy sss.i--,>s.
early youTn, over the undulating soil of
many years till the voices reach the
present, gathering up our yesterday?
And now a backward glance--what did
we pass2 Over hill and valley the
echoes led US, and this our review
We see the meadows with the quagmires
into which the little foot goes down,
neat, trim, and stainless, but come up
black and miry, calling for mothers
ready hand to repair the mischief
Childhood, with its joys and sorrows,
its pains and pleasures-not imaginary.
Tears are just as bitter in the eyes of
the little one as those that drop from
the lids of older people. Little thorns
in childish hearts are Just as hard to
pluck ont as the weapons that stabs us
in after life. On! Let's cross the field
whose breezes are laden with the rich
perfumes. Stand in the door of that
old home; visit again that rustic seat
in the little grove; go again to this
sleigh-ride, or that picnic, and go forth
through the whole catalogue Of feeting
pastimes.
The sum and substance of our jour
ney is. only this-a pleasant life with
here and there dry, arid, desert places
through our whole existence-tracts
that yield no harvest, and over which
the reapers sigh-parts that drink to no
purpose the moisture that should have
gone to fertilize our moral nature-drop
after drop spills and sinks, leaving
scarcely trace on the dry, white sand.
| We see. too. springing up in those
fair fields, rare flowers of friendship,
now plucked and withered in the hand
of Time. We witness parting latter
parting with friends and dear ones, as
one after another, they pass away into
the shadow, leaving US alone on the
high bluff where, once, gay, laughter
loving band stood, with hands Joined in
friendly clasp. We see in imagination
the sun 90 down, and night closing
over the graves of buried hopes, and
the white monuments cleaning out clear
and ghastly in the blackness. Well,
revel little longer among the scenes
of early years, and then if you'll meet
|. me on the shores of s.Might have been,'
, while we listen to the roar Of the waves
beating and dashing on the other side,
we'll fancy ourselves in that little boat
that lightly skins the waters under the
) strong, steady grasp Of her oarsman.-
}, Under other skies, passing through
other scenes, and the way, we deem i.
, clear for safe arrival at the destined
| port.
What certainty OF this? Large ships
!; have gone down in the same waters, and
our frail bark might have foundered,and
we been thrown out upon the beach
doomed and wretched beings, whom the
wreckers would not have spared in their
fendish scourings. We see ourselves
not as the slaves of circumstance, hui
e rising superior to our enemies. riding
> on the crestof all obstacles. We don,
see "the little boats darting to and fro
e under the shock as they strike the rock
of Error. We ever imagine ourselves
r graphing with the present, making il
9 ours. severing the connecting link be.
tween to day and tomorrow, and living
g ir the present; roofing out this old
, prejudice against systems not our own
cutting away this thick underground oil
q morbid fancies that infest our brain,
keeping out purer and better thoughts
denying all unison with the idlers who
| crowd every thoroughfare to honor and
I distinction, and clog the wheels O
E progress, pushing out the workers, il
a they can. No more desert places :
Rather the fierce struggles with inactior
send its notes across the plains, thar
I The soft cadence of submission
:, And now, friends, we separate :
> We've stood long enough on the mar
g gin of possibilities. We have watched
the tide in its ebb and flow; seen th,
. stately ships come in, borne on thu
waves of chance, loaded with priceless
cargoes. We have travelled far togeth
er over years of wasted life, and caugh
the glitter of golden opportunities a
I! they slipped from our grasp. We par
Y now to meet no more till the messenge
i shall come and beckon US over to th
other side. May we be ready when h
shall call us home, holding in bis firm
clasp your hand and mine.