The Red Cloud chief., 1898-03-04
SOME RAMBLING THOUGHTS.
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copyrighted by Dave n Tabor.)

malS we snare our pnySlCdl HecuS anu
frailties; so that there is nothing out
of conformity to nature ii this body
waste away by age or by disease. IL
this mind, remarkable though its pow.
ers are, is based upon physical changes
within the substance of the brain, we
need to raise no serious protest II its
powers wane as we become aged. II
in the grave these hands and eyes,
these bones and muscles transform
into mere gases and compounds, so
that in the place Of the living being
there rt m lin but a few pinches OF dust
why should We shudder Attn thought
These, our elements were gathered
through the year from earth and air
and they have simply returned to
their own. But If this personality,
this g which makes me differ from
every other person, and every other
person differ from me--if this in
dividuality that sits in judgment some
where within US, daring all things,
hoping all things, measuring all things;
il this come to an end like the rest; IL
this, though noting physical decay vet
still soaring higher and higher, unde-
caying and undecaying, is only to be
Knocked ut the end with sudden ami
hiliation, then may we well curse God
and die. For then are we mere exper.
mental whims of a fiend instead of
nurtured and cherished creatures of a
benign being.
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What else can be true il death ends
all. The knowledge Of oneself as a be-
ing separate and Individual, is a very
horror, for II only leads us up to high
places in order to cast us down head.
long as soon as we have gained a
glimpse of a broad we'll ordered uni
verse. Better not to have been, than
to attain glories that no animal ever
reached, and then have those glories
blotted Out-as a dai k, unwholesome
bewilderiug night blots out the day.
There is no escaping the cruelty OF the
thing, il annihiliation is all that remains
after our noble curbings Of self, after
our deeds Of love, after our sense of
kinship with the good, after our long
ings for fuller life and knowledge.
Look on a noble woman. Her individ.
ual character is quite Independent of
any functions that remain or any func.
tions that cease. She lives to impress
others, and to guide them, whether her
own or her n%eighbors. Follow her on.
ward through the years. With en-
feebled step but with heart enriched,
she still does her unseliish errands and
plannings. Now comes helplessness;
but she is yet the same individual
whose best remains brightest. At last
WI hear a final sobbing sigh. Am | to
believe that the mere circumstance of
a debated lung has destroyed a charac.
ter that neither trials nor pain nor
weakness could destroy? II so, then
matter is superior to mind and mind
to character; and we would better eat,
drink and live sensuously, for tomor-
row we may vanish.
*.~
There is another phase of the subject
gives us distress if we think of it. Re-
fleet on the imperfect ones; the victims
OF heredity who know not what they do
save as the impulse of an ancestor
compels them; the bearers of physical
and mental burdens by reason of
wrongs which they themselves never
committed. Think on those who are
weighted down with care and trouble
almost from the cradle actually to the
grave; on those-serfs, slaves, and tho
wretchedly poor-who get, not of free
will but by chance, merely the bread.
crumbs that fall from the rich mems
tables. Think on the jewellers in the
dark places of the earth. All these are
human beings whose lives are spent in
stolid misery. They have rights! and ,
by all that is fair and equitable in hu.
man nature, we declare that some
where, someday, somehow they shall
have a chance TO live life in its highest.
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This desire for "A hereaiter-this de-
mand, shall | SayY-is Il definite hun.
ger of the self within us. BY every an
alogy OF nature, spread out in all its
varied forms by n creative hand, we
never see Il hanger without Il provision
made to meet it.. Must we know all
about the beyond in order to be con.
tenty We know not the beauties of u
place until we are within. The very
ability to think OF IL however prcdi.
Gates 1t; for we cannot think the un.
t%hinkable. The Frightening faces of
the dying ofttimes proclaim IT,. What
their eyes see and their ears hear, will.
be ours also, when we approach tn,
mere veil that cover the entrance tc
the beyond, As one of the Restoration
poets says:
The souls dark cottage, battered and de
thNcu.
Lets M new light through chinks that Tim,
hath made.
stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As lhey draw near their eternal home.
BON worlds nj once they view
VINO stand upon the threshold of the new"
l close with some verses based upoi
a line in one of the Horace Odes.
MON oMNIS MORTAR"
As Imprisoned birds In alley dark
We fret our lives away.
Longing TO rise like soaring lark,
Aud watch the opening day.
And now we crouch in dun despair.
And fret our earth noOred cage
Anon our useless wings we tear
In idle, hopeless rage,
In gentler mood we gaze above
And ilutter feebly higher,
Hoping 10 bring thd blue we love,
IL but a little, higher.
But ever cloud, or falling night,
. 7 half forgotten bars,
Forbids MS cen the constant light
q I distant misty stars.
AND yet beyond these bars. they say.
Beyond this swoolen town,
The full sun rises every day,
And every night goes down.