The Farmville herald. [volume] (Farmville, Va.) 1890-1934, 1902-11-28
THOUGHTS.

| ~ 'i - maui w Apply III - N'ii'i
ingisense to many OF the awkward anC
disappointing things Of life. II i
better to have as a perpetual treasur
the blessed memory OF human affection
than to be ignorant Of what such {
memory can do in inspiring effort auc
duty. Sometimes we apply the trutl
Of this proverb too widely. 1t is no
better to have purpose in life and los
it, than to have had no purpose at all
To have and TO lose is worse thar
never to have had; for never 10 have
had means ignorance, to have had and
and to have lost may mean despair. II
is rs though we would say, il is better
to have been able to see and then e
have become blind, than to have been
born blind. Born blind, we never
know through the sense Of sight the
beauties aud glories that We miss; see
ing and then smitten with blindness,
we look no more upon the beauty that
we once loved and that once thrilled
us, To have bad the purpose to keep
moving with the majestic stream OF
forward moving creatures from the
beginning Of aspiration until now, and
then to have been swung aside into a
swirling eddy Of Of self qualification or
selfwIll, there 10 revolve around nothing
that is progressive, is worse than never
to have swung out into the great in
spring stream Of effort that makes
thousands Of us feel that life is really
worth while.
Strange paradox, that he who most doth give
Hath ever more and doth more largely live:
Yet so the spring, that doth most freely low
Believers the fields and still doth fuller
grow.
The dreadful aspect Of lost ideal is
that il puts US out Of step with the rest
Of the world The world as comfort
able habitation for man was not ready
made, but is still in the making. The
making Of it has been the work Of hui
man hearts and human hopes.
Therefore, those who cease to ideal
ize the life that is given into their
hands as a treasurer are separate from
the rest Of the toiliDg world their hearts
do not beat with it, their hopes do not
rise with it, they really aave no place
in it. The path Of man has been path
Of sacrifice Nothing s7er good was
attained without it, nothing ever will
be. Those who step aside and will not
sacrifice themselves in any way fof
anyone on any grounds are worse than
those who have never known anylight
Like the blind fish of deepest ocean
depth, they need no eyes because there
is nothing that they can see around
them. 1t is this very horrible sense Of
seeing vision Of what our lives ought
to be or what they could do with them,
and then losing that vision, that causes
men to despair and, as it were, to
"throw up the sponge" in suicide.
Take another view Of it. The inter |
Of all upon each and each |
upon all, making our civilization what
it is, is a judgement upon those who
lose their ideals. ldealization, as /
said last week, never brings its full
benefits TO the one who holds ideals; ITS /
full benefits are TO those around him or
who come after him. Man is not a
parasite that he should simply claim |
from the body Of humanity a gift! a
gift! gift! Man is a giver as well as a
yetter.
If he gives not, he ceases to be a man.
We think it unnatural for a son to
,ease looking after his mother no mat
Ter how personally distressing to him
he manners or the views or the be-
layior Of that mother may be: so the
me who loses ideals, aud ceases to hope
md strive after them, has lost the sense
# kinship that makes him Dust be
,ause he is man throw the best effort
If himself out towards those around
him. The great world is a body
civilization brings each element Of the
,ody into closer relation, just as educa-
ion brings out Of the body Of the
avage the body and ability Of the
progressive man.
The great human body made up Of
III the divers elements, advancing or
never can be truest body
# health that ii ought to be until the
Indifferent cease to exist or are aroused
o exertion, just as your body and mine
an never be its best while one member
f it is out Of health, no matter how
tumble or apparently mental that
member may be.
sad Is the sound Of autumn leaves
housekeeping through the barren boughs
when Winters icy herald soughs,
Where lately stood the browning sheaves.
Yet royal is the Seasons death
Crimson and gold the funeral train:
For from the pyre there spreads again
The odorous Spring-time's gentle breath.
Such sadness r. TO sweetness we'd ,
such sorrow seemeth passing fair
The deadly darkness Of despair
Can only fall where Hope has fed.
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