The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1880-09-17
TWOSCORE AND TEN.

Line earnest preacher TAXED OF Youth ana
life is a book, whose lines are fitting fast;
Each word q moment. every year page,
Till, leaf by Leaf, we quickly turn the last. :"
Even while he spoke, the sunshine's witness
By many fair and many grizzled head,
Some dtfSSe e nsayIly as # they slept
A boy Of twelve. with fancies fresh and
Who found the text no cushion of repose,
Who deemed the shortest sermon far too long,
Ny thoughts were In the tree-tops with the
crows;
Or farther still SCARED, upon the back
OF white clouds sailing in the shoreless blue
Till he recalled me from their dazzling track
To the old Westinghouse and high-backed
pew.
"To eager childhood, as it turns the leaf,
How long and bright the unread page ap-
But to the aged, looking back, how brief
How brief the tale of half hundred years!
Oyer the drowsy .pews the preachers word
ReSOunded, as he paused to wipe his brOWS:
seem to hear it now, as then heard,
Re-echoing in the hollow Westinghouse.
sour youth is gone. and thick and thicker
The hoary years, like tempest-driven SHOWS;
Flies fast, flies fast, lifes wasting pendulum,
And ever faster as it shorter grows"
My mates sat wondering YEARLY the while
How long before his lastly would come In,
Or glancing at the girls across the aisle,
Or in some distant corner playing pin.
But in that moment to my inward eyes
A sudden window opened, and caught
Through dazzling riffs glimpse of other
The dizzy deeps, the blue abyss of thought.
Beside me sat my father. grave and gray,
And old, SO old, at twOscOre years and ten!
said, 81 will remember him this day,
When am fifty, If live till then.
az will remember all I see and hear,
My very thoughts, and how life seems to
This Sunday morning in my thirteenth
Row viii it seem when I am old as he?
'swhat is the work that shall find to do?
Shall be worthy of his hOnOred name?
Poor and OBSCURE? or will my dream come
My secret dream of happiness and fame2"
All me, the years betwixt that hour and this!
The ancient Westinghouse has passed away,
And in its place a modern edifice
Invites the well-dressed wOrshiper to-day.
With it have passed the well-remembered
The Old are gone, the boys are gray-haired
They, too, are scattered. strangers fill their
And here am at twoscore years and ten!
How strangely, wandering here beside the sea,
A cloud. Sabbath bell, bring back to me
That morning in the gaunt old meeting
house!
And oasis amid the desert years,
That golden Sunday smiles as then It
Isee the venerated head; through tears
see myself, that faro wondering child
The pews, the preacher and the whitewashed
An imaged book, with careless children
Its awful pases-1 remember all;
My very thoughts, the questioning and
The haunting faith, the shadowy superstition
That l was somehow chosen, the special
OF Powers that led me through life's change
Spirits and Influences of earth and air.
In curious pity Of myself grown wise,
think what then was and dared to hope,
And how my poor achievements satirize
The boys brave dream and happy horo-
scope.
To see the future flushed with morning fire,
Rosy with banners, bright with beckoning
spears,
Fresh helds inviting courage and desire
This is the glory OF our youthful years.
To feel the pettiness of prizes won,
With all our vast ambition; to behold
So much attempted and SO little DONE
This is the bitterness of growing old.
Yet why repine3 Though soon we care no
For trinmphs which, till won. appear SO
They serve their use, as toys held out before
Beguiled our infancy to try Its feet.
Not in rewards, but in the strength to strive,
The blessing lies, and new experience
In daily duties done, hope kept alive,
That Love and Thought are housed and en-
tertained.
Awaiting me was other than It seemed.
NY feet have missed the paths of Paradise,
Yet life is even more blessed than Ideened.
Riches never sought, and have not found,
And Fame has passed me with averted eye;
In creeks and bays my quiet voyage Is bound,
While the great world without goes surging
No whitening envy Of anothers lot,
Nor nightmare of contention, plaques my
For me alike what is and what is not,
Both what have and what lack are best.
A flower more sacred than far-seen success
Perfumes my solitary path; I find
Sweet compensation in my humblenese,
And reap the harvest of q tranquil mind.
keep some portion of my early dream:
Brokenly bright. like moonbeams on q
river,
It lights my life, far elusive CLEAN,
Moves as move, and leads me on forever.
Our earliest lOngings prophesy the man,
Our fullest wisdom still tnfOlds the child;
And I'm INV life trace that larger plan
Whereby at last all things are reconciied.