San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1896-10-25
IS SUNDAY DAY OF REST.

Tess their sins ana ask TOT mercy from
the throne of grace; this is as it should
be. But is Sunday a day of rest?
In how many households do the cares
of life come tumbling in to vex the
minds of the fathers and mothers who
have striven through each hour of ev-
cry week day to make all ends meet.
The rich are anxious for their stores
the poor are anxious for their daily
bread. How short and uncertain is
the period of mans life; how futile
latent powers in the breasts of men;
yet how great are all the results that
spring from the efforts of ambition
and selfishness.
A great city is but the hamlet on an
exaggerated scale-in the country the
birds sing the sounds of nature make
music for the dwellers on farm and
ranch-in the city the church bells
ring and the organs peal, yet they
all sound forth the music of nature.
How can man rest-only by forgetting
the cares of life. The denizen of
cities find relief in the open fields-the
countryman seeks relief in the busy
haunts of men.
One source of relief is in intercourse
with one another; sad indeed is the lot
of those who are thrown upon them
selves for rest-the busy brain keeps
right on hammering on the anvil of the
blacksmith, showing the carpenters
plane; laying the bricks of the mason;
setting the type of the printer; writ
ing the brief of the lawyer; mixing the
prescriptions of the doctor; planning
the schemes of the office hunter; weav-
ing the article of the editor; firing the
Imagination of the lover making the
bargains for the speculator; piling up
the goods for the merchant; there is
no day of rest. May as we'll expect
the sun to stand still, the flowers to
cease to bloom; the winds to cease to
blow, as to expect that man should
rest for a single moment in his
march from the cradle to the grave.
We may enforce idleness of hand and
tongue; we may cease active pursuits,
but we have no rest.
A simple story is told of a German
student who in his travels rested on
a mountain side as the shades of ev-
ening caught him without shelter.
A shepherd with his flock was near
his path, and he asked direction how
to reach village that lay in the val
ley below. The weather threatened
a storm and the student hurried
the people rushing wildly from place
to place, everything was in a hurry;
he inquired of the first person, where
he could find the inn, as he wanted
shelter until tomorrow: tomorrow"
answered the person accosted, there
is no tomorrow, I must hurry" and
left him; his inquiry was met by the
same sort of an answer by every one;
at last he espied sign of an inn and
entered to find it's occupants were
dressed in a bygone costume, drink
ing beer; he asked the portly innkeep-
er if he could have accommodation
until tomorrow; he was greeted with
a loud laugh from all the gay jewellers
and the answer, tomorrow why there
is no tomorrow" He sailed forth
bewildered into the street where all
the people were hurrying as if mad in
pursuit of their own affairs; a maiden
came to him and asked him to sit
down by a ruined fountain, and she
told him, your heart is still young and
without guile-yOu have never deceiv-
ed your fellow man; fly from this
place, go back by the path you have
come, or else your doom shall be ours,
here there is no tomorrow. The stu
dent took the maiden's advice, reach
ed his mountain road, and fell asleep
in a sheltered ledge. The morning
sun disclosed the scene of a valley
a shepherd with his flock, but no YES
tige of the village. Several hundred
years before the students visit, this
village was cursed because it's people
had answered the priest when he de-
manded that they observe his COM
mands, to cease from selfish indulgen-
ces, that tomorrow would do, and
then it was sunk from sight but hat
very day every hundred years it ap-
pears again with it's inhabitants hur-
rying to perform their daily duties
before the sun would set and place
them again in oblivion.
Let each day be the measure of
life-no tomorrow-for it never comes
There is no rest but the rest that
comes from fatigue of brain and arm.
No way to rest but in change of
thought. We hear of retrospection
and reflection-such a process only
piles up the deeds of lifetime for in
spection.
The ghosts of deeds we would forget;
the sorrows we would bury with the
dead 1.-THE opportunities we have neg
lected; the joys we have never appre-
ciated; come up and dance fantastic
figures in the brain. No, let us go
forth and find companionship, seek di-
version and not hurry in the business
of life and perhaps we can rest pro-
vided our hands are not tied to the