St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1903-06-13

ueSS-QudlltleS dS rare dS OQdlS. LIE
most heavenly and Christlike of viz
tues do not belong to Towering May
or luxuriant June, but to the autumn
of life. when
November strews the woodland DER
With many brilliant COLOR
l have seen the dashing river in the
mountains carrying trees and powders
as if they were but straws. but NO
green savannas we're mirrOred in the
depths. l have heard the thunder
of the cataract, and have seen the
foam and spray dim the splendor OF
the noon. But far up in the noun
tains l have seen the limpid lake
copying the fora on the banks, and
at night the starry mysteries of heav-
en-. Piety, in old age, has the Sc.
renity and clearness of the embow-
cred lake. Piety, in youth and In he
roic manhood, has the dash, the
swing, the rhythm and the majesty
of the river and the sea. Old age,
fashioned into comelinesS, radiant
with the beauty of holiness, is the
fulfillment and realization of the di-
vine ideal. He who leaned on the
| bosom of his Lord and dipped his pen
/, in the pure love Of heaven, wrote the
fourth gospel with nearly century
8, in his heart. A full age, like shock
of corn, is essential to the maturity
of wisdom, the equipoise and balanced
calm of life, the symmetry Of cber-
! acter.
Thee is an inspiration In looking
at a sanity man sitting in his chair
| bef1owered with Christian graces.
Memories fragrant as spikonard are
his companions His life is green
as the leaflets of spring, and sweet
as the blossoms of May, although he
is an autumn leaf. And while his
body is crumbling, his soul is radi-
antly youthful. and looks forward to
death as the gateway to coronation.
The finished life, like the snow-white
pillars carved into lily work. cannot
be wrought out in year.
1t requires time to ripen the grain
and mellow the fruits and array them
in their final colors. It requires
time to bring the lily and the rose
to their ultimate Towering. and the
vine to it's stage when purple clusters
CLEAN through it's leaves. And it
requires time to produce rounded
character, as tender as it's brave, as
ScuIlc dS tlS oCIOA6, SAol AuSu NY eAC
waters of sorrow, and chastened by
work of time And what is such
character, in it's graciousness and
beauty, but picture in art? The
painter, the architect, the musician,
deal with the beautiful forms and
colors and sounds. But fond as we
are of gazing on pictures in stone and
marble, in colors tremendously ar
ranged, and in hearing sounds that
make us think and dream OF heaven,
we must confess, the soul, when finely
carved and shaped-all abloom with
springlike glory and morning fresh
ness-is a greater picture.
A life fashioned in harmony with
high ideals, marked by unusual ele-
walton and spirituality of tone, gentle
as one of the nights in autumn when
all the leaves are still, full of win
some courtesy and affectionate behav-
ior, is a fine art-more curiously
wrought than the portland vase, and
more exquisitely Fashioned than the
Venus of Milo It is Gods master
piece.
But if we wish to stand in the au-
tumn of life, covered with all the
glory of October, we must pay at
tention to the planting time. We
reap what we SOW. Autumn may
mean decay, darkness and death; or
it may mean abundance, light and
sweetness All autumn leaves are
not beautiful. Some have been de-
faced They do not pass from glory
to glory in the normal process OF
DEVELOPMENT. Something touched
them and robbed them of their green
ness in the summer, and their fam
ing gold or scarlet in the autumn.
And there are aged people like blight
ed leaves or worm-eaten fruit They
did not begin right They planted
the wrong kind of seed, and, as the
result, they are not sweetened. You
might as we'll expect perfect lily
from a decayed bulb, or choice roses
from worthless slip, as to expect
the consummate flower of spirituality
from wrongdoing.
Fruit, in it's initial stage is acerb
and bitter, but in its ripened state it
is luscious and very pleasant to the
taste. We expect in the young buoy
ancy, rashness, passion and fire, but
in the old we expect serenity and
W
see old people bitter as wormwoOd. |
We do not like to come in contact
with people when they seem SO sharp |
and irritable as though they were
dressed in sandpaper or in a Mexican |
cactus We prefer those whose ways |
are so gentle and winsome that to |
touch them is to touch plush.
I carry in my memory the portraits |
of two dear old people-one as the |
type of the bitterness. the other as
a type of the sweetness of old age.
One, by nature, was harsh, exacting, |
selfish, severe. She carried in her
mouth vigorous tongue. Her touch |
was like dagger. When she en-
tered a room she turned the tropics |
to the poles. She insulted callers
at her home She never paused to
consider the feelings of others. She
lived in this way until she had no
friends, and was utterly alone. She /
could have lamented with Macbeth:
MY way OF life
Is fallen Into the sere, the yellow leaf,
And that which should accompany old age
AS honor. love- obedience, troops OF friends
must not look to have; but in their stead
Curses, xot loud but Deep mouth honor, breath.
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but daer
not"
But she had no one to blame but
herself If we desire friends, we must
be. friendly. We cannot go through
this world swinging club and then
expect people to love us.
The other was spiritual queen
silent as to words, but powerful in
the exaltation of the sentiment of
love. She was as mellow as any rip
ened peach, and beautiful as any au-
tumn leaf. Her passing In and out,
her modest and retiring manner, hel
deedc Of cvmnt q nv and helnfulnoSS |