The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1913-05-15
says UNCLE CIV

There is no last resting place. fol
him who has done mans work. The
| progress of the world is marked by
| the unheard tramp of the feet of mil
| lions a few of them of undying fame,
! but most of them obscure, whose souls
go marching on. Where the tired body
| lies down to its long rest makes no
| difference, nor when, if it's task be &C
complished. Norman worth while
ever worried -overethe neglect or the
Dissertation of his tomb. Think what
you will of theology, or a life beyond
the grave, one thing we know to a
certainty-all that is worth preserving
in any man is his work, and that lives
regardless of time and change.
For his work there is neither death
nor resurrection. 1t simply goes
marching on. Its presence may not
be known to casual thinkers, and his
tory may never have recorded the
name of the worker, but he who does
one thing, big or little, and does it
well, sets in motion a force that shall
not pause or cease until the earth be-
come again a void and formless.
The thirst for fame is the mark of
small minds or the small vice of great
ones. 1t is only occasionally of value
to society, and then for the mere reas-
on that it plays the spotlight upon a
worthy example. Too often it passes
the worthy by to linger upon him of
little merit, and hence it's value in the
long run is doubtful. Work is always
worth while, although what men say
of your work may be of little impor-
lance.
In it's visible form it may pass
away; time at last will demolish it's
physical manifestation. But the one
thing that is more durable than the
eternal granite is the upward i'm
pulse of a thing well done. The pro-
cess of thought is a mechanical and
mathematical certainty. Given certain
impressions mind will think certain
thoughts and its owner is bound to do
certain things.
Thus it imprints itself upon one
mind after another through the count
les generations of the race. The cave
mans awe of night is still within us.
More important, the artistic instinct
that caused him to carve his fight
with the mammoth upon a reindeer
bone is still ours. The instinct of self
preservation, the love of struggle, the
impulse to protect his own through
battle or labor, is also ours. We owe
it to him who was strong enough to
survive his savage time, and to his
sons who came after him. That
caveman was, in a very vital sense,
the saviour of his race. He gave it
its indomitable upward impulse. His
work as lived for million years, al
though he had not even a name for
tradition to hand down to history.
Had he known the meaning of am
bit1on, his would have been the true
one-to do rather than to have it said
that he was a man of deeds. You are
tie cave man of today. You may be
so obscure that your next-door neigh
Dor or the man whose desk is beside
yours at the office fails to take an in
terest in you. or your name may be
upon the pages of every newspaper.
1t makes no difference to you if you
are genuine. Neither does it make
Whit of difference what you are doing.
q iey hot h
ing it well-so well that the thing will
impress itself upon other minds,
though it attract no attention to you.
If you are doing that, yours is one
of the souls that is to go marching
on to the end of tirne-in that glorious
motley company of kings and clowns,
chimney-sweeps and scientists, poets
and potters, clerks and captains of in
dustry, stokerS and statesmen
Copyright. 1913, by the Mcclure
Newspaper Syndicate.)