The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1894-07-17
RANDOM THOUGHTS.
Joe Jackson Now Gives O Few Thoughts
Stolen at Stray Moments From
Lies Varying Scenes.
NO. 6,

Lies Varying Scenes.
NO. 6.
To one who continually writes day
after day and year after year there
springs up in his or her heart a peculiar
tondness, a love, I might say for the
pen and pencil that they use. I am
lost without a pencil. I'd rather do
without my hat than my pencil. 1t is
a great joy to dot down the many
thoughts that surge and pillow and rise
to the surface Of our minds sea Ever
and ever the fountain of thought is
tanning forth waters. Sometimes they
are sweet and calm and sublime, and
we love to have them put on paper
where others can read and be refreshed.
At other times the waters are muddy
and brackish and poisonous and make
all who read of them sordid and mean
and hateful. My pencill All, how 1
love it! It has relieved me of many a
burden; it has lightened my heart
many a time. When I am conscious
that great wrongs have been done any
body in any cause how pleasant it is O
pen, to snatch thee from thy silence
and make thee a weapon, defending
the weak, sufferings the wrong, fight
ing for God and man. Thou art
mightier than the sword, greater than
bayonet or gun, more dreaded than the
warships or sentinels. Thy victories
are the g~randest victories on history's
page, Thou hast fought greater battles
and won sweeter laurels than anything
else. Thou mouldest public opinion,
either for right Or wrong. At thy
beckon kings and presidents and sen
ators fall down or rise up. Religion is
thy offspring, science thy footstool,
politics thy jest, humanity thy servant.
Oh pen, 1 love thee. Love thee for
what thou hast done, love thee for
what thou art doing, love thee for
what thou canst do. When thou vast
born the earth smiled. What would
we mortals do if we had no outlet
where the many children of the mind
could find a resting place9 .Methinks
the high eminence to which the mind
has risen would soon wither and fade
away and man would r~etrograde to his
primal state of ignorance. Oh pen,
thou holdest civilization in thy grasp
and Christianity in thy ward. By
reason of thee we converse, soul to
soul, mind to mind, with sages and
bor6O ubo 6ioI oopf,1rioo ~ 'Pu tboo
we listen to the ~love-dreams, we re,
chant the ~soul-songs, we repeat over
again the heart-throbs of minds of
classic, ancient penmen. By thee we
utter the silent language of our souls
to a wondering world, and through
thee thoughts, our hopes, our Ian
guage, our faiths, our loves, our habits,
our virtues and our vices will be
echoed through all time to come. My
pen to me my master is. We wander,
ing %scribblers, writing about every,
thing from the sublime to the ridicul-
GUS, do &c much writing that it comes
second nature to us to push the pen.
We push it sometimes when u eyes
are dim with tears and our hearts are
broken by sorrow and we r so tired,
so lonely, so sad, push it along trying
to find some bright idea, some beauti-
full sentiment, some sweet lullaby that
will make the world smile. We push
it along sometimes when joy is queen
of hearts and when love tingles itself
in bells in our ears and when ambition
paints a fairy picture over our paper
and when life is but a long, loving
dream of bliss. And then we push it
along gently, softly, tenderly as the
twilight of life appeals and the angel
songs come nearer and we linger on
the margin of deaths narrow chasm,
like a leaf on a limb in autumn, ready
to fall into their silent, majestic, gurg-
ling wave-tossed spot which is never
full and ever at hand, and as we go
down into their chasm the last thing
we do is to take pen, the compan-
ion of our youth, manhood and old
age, and with many a fond sigh we
bid it goodbye to push a golden pet
across the book of life amid the untold
glories or glooms of eternity. We like
the pen for what it has done but we
adore, we love, we magnify it for what
we expect it to do. l will hail with JOY
the day when with the pen all battles
shall be fought, all difficulties settled.
The sword and the battle ak belong
only to a savage, a ~servile, a hateful
country. Make the pen master of the