The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1875-06-10
DO WE GROW OLD?

We cannon but think that most peo.
pie take the wrong view of old. age
and if they ''grow old" in the unpleas.
ant sense of the term, it is essentially
their own fault. But the other day
we heard man of fifty put behind
him all the pleasantest things of life
with the remark: 81 am growing old
and such things do not interest me- y
Perhaps those are not competent 10
judge of such things whose own life
barque floats through the Summer seas
and between the happy shores of the
hither islands that bear Oh one hand
the vernal bloom OF promise, and on
the other the maturing fruits that hang
thick k-clustered just beyond lile's Sum
mer solstice. But we have made it a
part or our pnII0sOphy That people
never grow too old to be happy, or
lose the love of the beautiful, unless
they choose to.
Nay, but rather that the lapse of
time adds only to our enjoyments,and
cuts and poIshes the diamonds that
we may gather from the thick-strewn
borders of life's pathway, and with
which we shonld crown ourselves in
our journey towards the stars.
1t is not descent from the cradle
to the grave, as false philosophers
would teach us, any more than it is a
decline from the pencilled bloom of
the May orchards through all the pro-
gressive changes 10 the golden anu
purple fruitage of the rich fullness of
Autumn. 1t is rather a triumphal
march of progress through the shining
vistas OF palm. instead of the muffied
steps of solemn retreat through the
cypress forests.
Hope lies before, and the grave is
only the gateway beyond which we
shall first behold the vision of life's
truthfulness and understand its mis-
sion. From the cradle our steps are
upward to the grave, and the chrism
of the years should only touch our
lips to songs of more perfect joyous
ness, and teach us how to understand, |
love and enjoy the things about us.
Think we that the stars of the firma-
ment, the consultations that glorify
the night, and the flowers that spangle
all the hills and valleys "from the riv-
ers to the eifds of the EARTH" are to
be mysterious forever? Their inter-
is yet to come. They are the
words to the angels wherein they coin
Gods poetry of the Universe. and
lime the motions and The dances of the
stars.
We do not hear these words now.
Tor mortal ears are deaf to their music.
lor do we understand the meaning of
heir visible presence. The inaudible
music Of their being smites cur souls
7agHely like the reflex of Il dream, but
he time will come when their won
lerful music will be heard as well as
it will no longer be voice
ess, but will entrance us with its per-
ect melody. Far beyond us in the
upward journey of life is the summit
If the mountain that we call the grave,
md when once we cross its transform
NC threshold we shall hear and under
stand all that which has been a dumb
mystery to us.
The moments as they pass are but
he golden sands that drop forever,
whereby we are enabled 10 scale the
nountaia from whose summit we will
behold the Universe as it is, and talk 4
ace to face with the angels, whose
words we tried to read in the COW slip
md the daisy, and the simmer of the
tarlight.
l am growing old
Not SO.
tits only putting further behind YOU
he dull and useless things of momal-
ty, that you may dwell forever at the
ountains of perpetual youth, Life is
'ut the unshapely chrysalis bud-the
blossom opens beyond the shadowy
confines of the shores of life. !,
Why should the gloom deepen as
We near the sun? And why should
he unthinking speak of the downward
slope of life? Why walk back
Ill our days, with our faces down hill,
md gloomily speak of the downward