Fort Mill times. [volume] (Fort Mill, S.C.) 1892-current, 1913-12-24

A
and the question comes up with spontanety
What of all this to me?"
In country ours where oue's great
grandfather was about the earliest OIL record.
time does not impress 1t seems as IL every
thlng began yesterday. In old lands whose his
tory goes back centuries upon centuries the prog
ress OF time seems very impressive
But say what will it is our own life that is
the most impressive, and the years stretch out
behind us the memory of our youth makes
deeper impression on us this New Years day than
all the written history of the world. than all the
traditions of all the races than all the records
the rocks. The individual souls on days like this
naturally divide into two classes. On New Years
day youth looks to the future and age to the past
To the young all the paths before the feet look
rosestrewn and smooth. So be it. Let the eye
brighten as it feasts in anticipation on the good
things that must lie everywhere to the end Youth,
Youth! The time when there can be no doubt OF
any mystery save that life's longings and its
hopes could die" Let youth dream on of roses
without thorns, OF bright days without a cloud
of hopes that always find fulfflment. OF ambitions
always fully satisfied. All we need do for youth Is
leave 1t alone with its dreams It's hopes its am
bitons. With these 1t will take care of itself And
let not age. whatever the years may have brought
say word, shake a head or give dubious look
to dispel the glory of the dream. the brightness
OF the hope. the vaultng nature q the ambition
Time Will do enough OF this. So let youth have it's
undimmed joy today.
But age looks back The fires Of ambition are
dimmed They are all burntout ashes now The
hopes that buoyed up safely in youth have
found what there is of fulflment all too little Of
disappointment all too much We dream no longer
OF joys to come, but of grief that has so strewed
the path along which have come The smell
OF the woods in early spring when the first violets
bloom, or in the heat of summer when all Is like
the spice islands. or in fall when decay is in the
fallen leaves, or in winter when death absorbs
all, no matter to the aged all call back to days
long gone We walk alone now, and all along tho
far road lie mounds where stood anG confided
to the breast of Mother Earth SO many that walk
ed with us in the heydey OF our life The mother
whose soft touch banished Pain the father whose
ripe experience taught where to walk the
Drothers and sisters who were playmates in
those days when the world was all sunshine
Then when the wing of love ceased to brood over
us in the paternal nest and we went forth to
create n new family under the banner of love how
d DAY ike thls calls up all the JOY and tenderness
or these days of early manhood and womanhood,
So we dream of the long-lost clasp OF the hand Of
lover or friend; SO we dwell in tender memory
on all those days of hope, of Joy of expectancv
and fruition. We feel that all will soon be over
rms may be our last New Years day on this earth
where we have passed many eventful years
Nhen those who are left again ring out the old
ring in the new we NAV not be hero IN rim,
either chime or bells. So sit and dream and
call up from the treasurehouse OF memory the
races, words and deeds of those who walked with
us III the days OF our youth and OF our prime But
we would not be gone yet He is less than q man
VINO thus can sit and dream, think of his de-
parture. and not east longing lingering look
pehhd. we must go to the poets to interpret
thls life to us. Not to the great ones of the world
Dut TO those whose verse deals with the common
Things OF life: to Burns and his banks and braes
O bonnie Doom" his Highland Mary" to the man
VINO wrote Home, Sweet Home:" to the poet of
the poor slave in the south and his .Suwanee
IuVer' we can go far back in the ages and all
the time the common heart of a common humanity
was 1he same as now. King David would take
the aged Barzillai to the capital, to the court
but the plain man of the people would be left
alone to dream the last dreams of life in peace
Let me go back that may die in mine own CITY &"
Aiiu aiter death be buried by the side of my ia
ther and or my mother" OH the tenderness of
Ola age! There are no fierce passions left Am
Diton builds no more castles In the air. Just to
De let dream OF the days that are gone OF the
early nome and all 1t contained and then lie down
with the companions of youth and for centuries
ana centuries. throughout the great eternity LET
our ashes mingle with those we loved so well