The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 18??-1935, 1897-09-10
SOME RAMBLING THOUGHTS.
BY "NEMO."

BY MEMO.
TO THE MATURE AND OTHERs:-|
The slight chill in the morning mist,
the changed color Of an occasional
leaf before it tiutters to the ground,
the silencing of the birds, the Odor
of the evening air-these signs unite,
with numberless others to announce
/ that summer is nearing its end, and
with it is vanishing the opportunity
for raising further crops. Good or
bad, well-tended or neglected, the
results will soon be estimated and
the farmer know whether profit or
I loss is the result of his labOrs. The
wise farmer finds the Autumn at
hand in its cue season; the wasteful
! idle one is astOnished that it is here
so soon after the spring days when
| the sun summoned vegetation to life.
! But gone is the summer and no
voice is so loud or so implOring as to
be able to call it back. One more
seed time and harvest is gathered
| into the eternal and irrevocable past
and the Fastening days move US
| away from the time of crOp-grOwth
forward to the time when the storms
without are defied by reason Of the
stores within, or the wailingS with
out accumulated by the want within.
*x~
The slackening step, the occa-
sional feeling of Impotence at the
frantic and unreasonable Joy Of
children; the gray hair here and
there, the brevity of the years
these are signs that the summer
time of your life is passing too. You
rub your eye to see if you do but
dream the message of lessening time
that ever buZzes in your ears. The
shivering sense Of protest against
the desperate hurry of time is the
counterpart of that hollow, sOughing
sound that seems now to creep
through the woods;
That shuddering breath, which tells
that fire
Is placed to the seasons funeral pyre.
The time of opportunity is passing;
the time of garnering draws near.
Into that full crop of accomplish
ments and of deeds, which some of
you will rejoice over, are woven the
works done when you were weary,
but done nevertheless because time
was never known to return. In
your harvest of plenty are treasured
the duties done because they needed
to be done and not because they
were easy and pleasant. Such
works are there-every one Of them;
none are lost. And you with wisps
from your own neglected fields of
life, and hands full of gleanings
from others bounty-the ghosts of
neglected chances are impalpable in
your grasp, but they are there. In
dolent turning over on tiOwery beds
of ease hath its reward, and you be-
gin to see it in vision-an autumn of
regret, a winter of cherries empti-
ness with nothing of honest pride
wherein to feed self-respect.
Nv
Does the sun make any audible
noise as it peeps over the hill-tops
in the. morning? Does it summon
the farmer to duty with persistent
calls and shakings? No! the day
comes silently; silently does it grow
and wane, and silently does it pass
and without protest, even if unim-
proved. The farmers utilization of
time does not originate from any
: compelling force in the power OF
daylight, but from purpose within
his heart to make the most of his
farm in the days that the passing
seasons give him. Combining his
powers with the powers of nature
that he can control, the barren place
can be made to flourish, and out of
the parched grounds come forth
food. While the idle farmer frets
and fumes and grumbles about rains
or what-nOt, the days hurry by that
are giving his neighbor good return
for effort expended. This is so gen.
orally true as to be practically ac-
curate.
~
And thus is it with the opportuni-
ties of life. They do not troop up to
us with the blare of trumpets. AS
silently as the sun do they pass us
by and as supremely Indifferent to
neglect do they sink out of sight. In
visible to the eye of the savage is
the modern war-ship buried in a
bed of iron ore. Just SO invisible
are most opportunities except to the
eyes of compelling faith. The iron
clad is there, the opportunities are
here, all round us free as air and dis
coverable by every man with full
faculties, who will take of his time
freely, mingle it with strenth of pur-
pose and direct his operations with
intelligence. He it is who makes
highways across trackless deserts !;
| | L. 1nnnG if
alone; who, ever dissatisfied with
those things whereunto our race has
attained, moves us forward along
new lines, dragging us to betterment
by his own forces. He it is who is
ever harassed by the INDECENT who
will not act, and the faithless who
will not believe in opportunity until
it materializes before their very
: eyes. But what of the harvest? To
such man, no matter how barren
| 4 n,,zA to- 20 hA