Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1893-12-29

scroll, has rolled II and sealed 1t, and
Time places il among the myriad other
mysterious records which fill his treas
ure-house. The year has gone, or
rather let us say, the year has become
our own forever; no mutation nor ac-
cident can take from us its days and
hours. Looking back at this season
over the centuries of the worlds his
tory. we see ourselves the crown and
glory of them all, at the apex of human
greatness. That for which the dream
ers yearned in the dim old times, when
men were ''girt with doubtful light"
has become a reality, that for which
the great Of earth prayed, when igno-
rance and brutality reigned supreme,
stands glorious and permanent in the
sunlight of the smile of the Creator
The Brotherhood of Man and the
Fatherhood of God are recognized as
great facts all over the earth to-day.
\ retrospect fills us with awe and
wonder at the mighty forces, the Om-
nipotent Power that have led the world
along, through paths dark and bloody,
through fiery trials and conflicts, to
the glad Present and the hilltop of
Hope. from which we may view the
Beulah land of the glorious future.
In the immutable purpose running
throughout the warp and woof of hui
man history, we see the sign of the
Divine hand upon all nations. Through
out all the ages, up to this very hour
when we stand upon the verge of
new year and new epoch, mans er-
rors have never been able to thwart
that purpose, though they have made
suffering necessity in the publication
of human ideals.
Our own nation has become the heir
of the worlds noblest heritage both
spiritual and material. Every new
year has marked stride forward of
liberty under law, of culture and pros
perity. But little more than q century
ago, the patriots of our land looked
forward to the new year with doubt
and almost despair. Foes were on
every side, ready to invade and desc
crate the home of freedom, which was
then comprised in a narrow strip of
thinly settled country on the shores of
our eastern ocean. To-day the temple
of liberty is arched by skies stretching
from ocean to ocean, and it is filed
with the fairest trophies of mans en-
deavor. Art, science, literature and
religion have been revivified by the
breath of the republic, which, like the
Hercules of the fable, has strangled
the lion of tyranny, has performed the
labors deemed impossible, and reigns
the ideal of government in every land,
vital force in the world. center of
impulse and aspiration.
A runner must pause to take breath, a
bird fight cannot be straight upward
or it's wings will weary, and now and
again fate lays her hand upon nations
that they may pause to view whence
they have come and whittier they go.
The year just past has witnessed such
n halt in our own career of material
prosperity. Though financial distress
was widespread, and the wheels of
commerce almost idle, though the palsy
of inaction seized upon our legislators,
even this pause in the race has made
its contribution to our national great
ness. The people of our country have
seen with swelling hearts the patriot
ism of the leaders of the masses rising
above all political and personal mo-
tives and the noble charity of the ia
vored of fortune to the poor and un-
fortunate has quickened the fraternal
spirit and softened class prejudice.
Public and private benefcence has
reached a height never before wit
messed in any country, and the narrow
lines of intolerance have been erased
or dimmed by the chastening touch of
As individuals, the New Year opens
to us boundless opportunities. If it
bring sorrow, is not woe the fire that is
to burn the dross from our souls? If it
bring poverty, let us remember that
there is an infinite side to it, and the
poor have before them world of hope
and endeavor that is closed to those
who must make no struggle against OPP
posing forces. Riches may be its boon,
but riches are precious only for their
power of comforting happiness and en-
upon the world. Death
may be its cup uf healing, yet there is
no death but the cessation of endeavor;
and leaving this fair earth is no more
death than merely living upon it is life.
False was the song Of the poet who
said that the New Year IS Time for
memory and for tears" For memory
it is indeed time, for the CLEANED
sheaves of the sweetness of past days |
is an imperishable possession, but
tears, even though their waters surge
over the fragments of shattered resolve
and self-murdered hope, are vain and
idle. Then let us give Time benedic-
ton as he turns his glass, for he has
the bitter in our draught of
life with sweet, and as the blithe New
Year assumes the robe and crown shout
with earnest hearts: lie roi est mort,
yive lie -oi."