The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1913-12-25

and the question comes up with spontaniety,
What of all this to me?"
In country as ours where ones great
grandfather was about the earliest on record,
time does not impress u.s. 1t seems as if every
thing began yesterday. In old lands whose his
tory goes back centuries upon centuries the prog
ress of time seems very impressive.
But say what We will, it is our life that is
the most impressive. and the years stretch out
behind us the memory of our own youth makes
deeper impression this New Years day than
all the written history of the world than all the
traditions of all the races than all the records of
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
rose-strewn and smooth. So be it. Let the eye
brighten as 1t feasts in anticipation on the good
things that must lie everywhere to the end. Youth
Youth! The time when there can be mo 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 cloud,
Of hopes that always find fulfllment, of ambitions
always fully satisfied. All we need do for youth is
leave It alone with its dreams, it's hopes. its
billions. With these it will take care Of itself. And
let not age, whatever the years may have brought,
say word shake head or give dubious look
TO dspel the glory OF the dream, the brightness
of the hope, the vaultng nature Of the ambition.
Time will do enough of this. So let youth have its
undmmed joy today.
But age looks back The fires of ambition
dimmed. They all burnt-out ashes now. The
hopes that buoyed up so safely in youth have
found what there is of fullment 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 aC.G which we have come The smell
OF the woods in early spring when the first violets
bloom. 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 the
far road lie mounds where stood and 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 f9ther whose
ripe experience taught us where to walk, the
brothers and sisters who our 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 went forth to
create new family under the banner of love how
day like this calls up all the JOY and tenderness
OF these days OF early manhood and woman hood.
So we dream of the long-iost clasp of the hand of
lover friend; SO we dwell in tender merpory
on all those days of hope, Of Joy, of expectancy
and fruition We feel that all will soon be over
This may be our last New Years day on this earth
where we have passed many eventful years.
When those who are left again ring out the old
ring in the new, may not be here to ring
either chime of bells. So we sit and dream and
faces, words and deeds of those who walked with
US in the days of our youth and of our prime But
we would not be gone yet He is less than a man
who thus can sit and dream, think of his de
parture, and not cast longing lingering look
behind We must go to the poets to interpret
this life to US Not to the great of the world
but to those whose deals with the common
things Of life TO Burns and his banks and braes
o bonnie Doom" his Highland Mary" to the man
who wrote Home, Sweet Home" to the poet Of
the poor slave in the south and his "Suwanee
River We can go far back in the ages and all
the time the common heart of common humanity
was the same King David would take
the aged Barzillai to the capital to the court
But the plain 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 d"
And after death be buried by the side Of my ia
Their and Of my mother" OH the tenderness of
old age! There are no fierce passions left. Am
bition builds no more castles in the air Just to
be let dream of the days that are gone Of the
early home and all it contained and then lie down
with the companions of youth and for centuries
and centuries, throughout the great eternity, let
our ashes minge with those we loved so well