Knoxville journal. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1874-1986, 1876-02-03

Il
per, waken music amid its strings, then
the greatest DAYS of this life are passing
They may not be the most powerful days in
actual events. Events come slowly; but
they are the most powerful days in all those
harvest is always far away from the SOW
ing time. Indeed, the harvest comes to-
ward the fall of the year. 1t stands close
by the autumn leaf But the days that
made the harvest began far back in the
March and April rains. So the noble
events Of life come perhaps in full or late
manhood, but they are only the ripened
fruit of tree that put forth its leaves and
blossoms long before, when the noble at
mosphere of youth lay around the spirit
The young, locking at all the illustrious
ones of the world, and marking that they
are standing in middle life, feel that they
can hope little from the present, as il still
is too far away from great action. Fatal
mistake That middle life so full of
honors is only the place where the stream
of youth empties all its long borne treas
ures. Middle life is the place where the
torrent of the heart tumbles into the sea
Coleridge says " No one ever became a
poet after he had passed his twenty first
year" The meaning Of such words must
be that such beautiful fabric as verse
can be woven only out of moments full of
life's early enthusiasm and early color
ings. Indeed, the most remarkable men
OF all history have achieved their great
ness by the time the thirtieth year had
come, for up TO that period the idealism,
the dreams, the vehemence of the mind
the inspiration of the soul all sweep along
in all the majesty of heavy wave or 8
rushing storm As the Duncan sybil
raved when the spirit of prophecy was
upon her; as the old prophets seemed halt
frenzied when their lips sang those stately
strains of destiny, so the utterances and
deeds Of middle life are only the final
language of that sybil that raves In the
bosom ali through the inspired hours of
life's morning.
There are many melancholy scenes on
earth. The millions of poor in Ireland
might well touch all souls with pity. All
over the world there are strewn great
calamities of mankind. A journey among
men is much like passing though forest
after a tornado has just passed by, or like
passing through Calabria on the morning
after the earthquake had shaken it; but
more painful than all these scenes Is the
spectacle of millions of youth daily ex-
hausting upon low pursuits or childish
pursuits an enthusiasm and an inspira-
ton of soul implanted by the Creator for
the purpose of creating and decorating a
world. Every young heart of man or
woman carries within II vitality that
may make, and genius that may beau.
tify, vast empire. As God implants in
the young bird power that makes il at
least spread its wings and cast itself upon
the sofl air, so into the young bosom
which He loves more than He loves the
sparrows, He has emptied an urn of en-
thusiasm, OF hope, OF sentiment, OF love,
OF ambition, which are to become the
wings Of all subsequent flight. Trusting
yourselves, my young friends to these
wings. the great air of the world will soft
ly and sweetly bear you up. But to per-
NIT this holy vitality TO exhaust itself in
saloon beneath the pavement, to compel
the inspiration of young heart to spend its
divine resources upon drunken song or
TO study only the shape and colorlngs OF a
toilet, to turn away such gifted spirit from
the intoxication of learning, of art, OF
culture, of religion and make II beat It's
bright wings only In the foul cages OF vice
is the most painful of all the pictures seen
in the drama OF man-most painful be
cause so vast and SO influential for wretch
edness.
The classic books which nearly all of
you have read (thanks TO that public edu-
cation which has given the worlds litcra-
ture to all the rising generation) told you
of lake called "Avernus." "Avernus"
means birdless. Located in the desolate
crater of an extinct volcano, a poisonous
air issuing from the internal depths hung
over the dark water, and stupehed the
sense of the eagle or the nightingale that
tried to pass from shore to shore. Sud
denly the wing became powerless, and
the eagle with his pride and the nightin.
gale with its song fell into the river OF
death Let us bless the classics that they
have handed down 10 Us such figure OF
human life. There is a lake of pleasure, OF
folly, of sin lying near the homes OF the
young. A deadly air hangs over It, The
young, forgetful or ignorant of its fatal
yapors, spread their wings upon its hither
shore--those wings made In heaven, and
good enough for angels. But at last their
flight is checked, and the heart once
proud like the eagles, or sweet with song
like the lark's, alike'it falls into the dark
food. ....
Thus all we young be assured that the
wonderful activity within and the rosy
imagination OF these days are power
that should be busy constructing the
future. A happy middle life does not
spring up out of itself. The elOquence OF
Henry Clay did not come to him in 1880
or 1870, when he stood IN the height OF
power, but came in that rosy light of ora.
tory that hung over his cradle in 1T7v and
in that longing Of the soul that made the
corn fields o. Virginia the audience OF
his recitations and soliloquies. Thus all
greatness comes from permitting the In
spiration OF youth TO pour itself along
some sacred path. At twenty five the
trickling drops have become stream, al
thirty the streamlet has become \ majestic
river. The heart will never become a.
powerful again ~ when 1t was young and
possessed the power TO enlarge the future,
and, like the sun, draw up sweet water
from that outspread sea. The sadness OF
old age lies partly in it, inability TO paint
any longer in brilliant colors. Unless
old age finds itself full of the poetry and
rapture stored up in LIES morning, IL
becomes only solemnity, face turned
downward The blessedness OF young
life lies in its privilege Of singing:
There IL fsupt about TO stream,
There IL q light about to beam,
There In q warmth aboct In glow,
l.. "A hi