The record-union., 1898-01-10
SOME RAMBLING THOUGHTS.
(By "Nemo.')
copyrighted by Dave & Tabor.3

copyrighted by Dave & Tabor.)
Were my readers welding this pen
they would recognize the difficulty-the
mpossibiiity-of touching all classes
each week. Lives are so varied, and
thoughts even more So, that one must
be content with throwing out words OF
courage almost at random, SATISFIED
with the mere chance OF nerving some
body whose needs are unknown There
is a widespread class l would commune
with this week-the discouraged.
The irrevocable past is an awful
thought. / admit-no one knows it bet
ter The deeds we do, like the casual
footprints in the sands of the Bay of
Fundy-footprints of the struggles for
prey CT of love-are preserved forever.
Whatever we have done remains an
indeiible mark. The flood of repentance
may soften it's harsh outlines; the ocean
flowers of Gods goodness may cover 1t;
long years may spread over it the gen
tie mist of forgetfulness; but the print
remains. And just as the curious ge-
oloSist unearths strange markings and
odd shapes, and brings them to the
light, SO in the career of each one of us
VIII ever be found those walking con-
sciences of unhappy accusation, who
while occupying themselves with US as
friends are unearthing our fossil deeds
and sad acts and displaying them to a
gaping world whose first thought is to
see the hole whence such things can be
digged and to argue to our damage
that there must be more where these
came from.
Such is somewhat the experience of
all of US who have erred. We are
stabbed in the houses of our reputed
friends--we are appalled, to find even
our simple or sinless foolishness re-
membered through decades and revived
after times of utter peace of mind.
This is what causes the heart often TO
sink within us. 1t makes us feel like
loving the drifting of a stick toward
the sea rather than the restless energy
of the living fish that must strive if 1t
would make real progress.
The past belongs to a record that
is Interchangeable. Bear that in mind
and take courage. Each of us has
graveyard-the skeletons are, there and
some day, perhaps our friends will
prove it to US. But dining with ghosts,
sleeping with them, thinking of them
will unnerve the heart, produce visions
or unreal sorrows and utterly ruin the
life so long as the ghosts of gone-bys
keep us from opening our doors to the
hungry duties and deeds that await US
ouptside our dreary banqueting hall of
regrets.
What we have for our own is the 1iv-
ing present, as Longfellow expresses it:
1t is a stimulating thought, though
the next step be the future, and the
last the past; yet, through our whole
life, we have our constant little
glimpse of time between two eterni-
ties" which to all intents and purposes
is our own. We need not stop to dis
cuss free will or election. Whether our
every action be foreordained or fore
known Of God or no, practically it is
ours to choose The father may warn
the child that fire will burn, may even
know before he leaves the room that
the child will be burnt, may even wish
the child to learn wisdom by suffering;
but, as far as the child is concerned,
it is mis- to choose whether faith or self
will shall have the mastery. The pres
ent IS in its passing moments determin-
ing those things at which we shall later
look back. The past is fixed. The pres
ent is ours to shape and to mould. Let
US get at it with every fierceness of
purpose.
You gloomy mourners over the past,
listen to homely parable: Three
boys had each a specked apple The
first recognized the defect, and threw
the fruit into the nearest stream. The
second cut away the bad part and ate
what was left. The third sat him down
bemoan.ng the fate that sent the rot
tenness until the whole decayed. Some
of us, like Judas Iscariot discover our
character specks and throw away our
lives; others, wiser, like the Prodigal
Son, discard the worthless portions as
soon as they are seen to be worthless.
and henceforth live only on the good
and wholesome things; and there are
others, who have neither the decision
of Judas, nor the good sense of the
Prodigal. They make one wrong choice
and spend the rest of their lives be-
u.
arrow which was to have hit the quarry
has kicked" and wounded the over
eager hand. Thereupon though the
game be plentiful; though the keeper
put the bow once more into the still
useful hand, though other arrows rest
in the full culver, the game passes I'M
needed, the bow warps for want of
work and the arrow heads rust in idle
ness For one false shot therefore, a
culver full of arrows is lost and an
| empty larder cries out upon the faint
hearted one. How many of us are here
described!
Arise, misguided ones. The old year
is dead; but the New Year has risen
from its ashes. The past is with God
--irrevocable. The future is with God
-uncontrollable. But the present, the
Living Present" is yours-yours to
shape and brighten, until it hide the
past by its greatness, and WOO the flu
ture by its loneliness Be like the
artilleryman who hurls a shell into a
fenced city, he has done his duty if his
gun be well pointed, and his powder
dry; but whether he will siay the Com
mander-in- Chief or shatter tobacco
| nist's dummy, he cannot tell. Point
at the frowning ramparts Of all oppos-
| ing forces. Aim high and you will
| overcome.
net frt% =.