The Idaho recorder. [volume] (Salmon City, Idaho) 1886-1927, 1914-01-01


and the question comes up with spontanissy.
What of all this TO me?"
In q country SO new as ours where ones great
grandfather was about the earliest on record.
time does not impress rs. II seems as II 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. II Is oyr own life thft In
the most impressive. ana as the years stretch out
behind US the memory of our own youth makes a
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 1t. Let the eye
brighten as II 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 lifes ongings and It's
hopes could die" Let youth dream on OF roses
without thorns of bright days without a cloud
Of hopes that always find fulhllment. OF ambitions
always fully satisfied All need do for youth Is
leave II alone with its dreams, Its hopes. its am
billions With these II win take OF itself And
let not age whatever the years may have brought
say word. shake head or give dubious look
to dispel the glory of the dream. the brightness
OF the hope. the vauting nature of the ambition
Time will do enough OF this So let youth have its
undimmed JOY today
But age looks back The fires OF ambition are
dimmed. They are all burnt-out ashes now. The
hopes that buoyed us up so safely in youth have
found what there is of fulllment 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 we have come. The smell
of the woods In early spring when TIE first violets
bloom. or In the heat of summer wien all is like
the spice islands, or in fall when decay is In thu
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 we stood and confided
to the breast OF Mother Earth so msay that walk
ed with us In the heydey of our life The mother
whose soft touch banished pain. the father whose
ripe experience taught US where to walk the
brothers 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 went forth TO
create a 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 womanhoodi
So we dream OF the iong.lost clasp of the hand OF
lover or friend we dwell In tender memory
on all those days of hope. of Joy. OF expectancy
and frHition. We feel that all win 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" we may not be here to rims
either chime OF bells. So sit and dream and
call up from the treasurehouse OF memory the
faces, words and deeds OF those who walked with
US In the days OF our youth and Of our prime Blu,
we would not be gone yet He is less than man
who thus sit and dream, think OF his de-
parture, and not cast one longing lingering looh
behind" We must go to the poets to interpret
this life to US. Not to the great OF the world
but to those whose verse deals with the common
things OF life: TO Burns and his banks and braea
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 n common humanity
was the 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"
And after death be buried by the side OF my IA
Their and OF my mother" OH the tenderness OF
old age! There 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 II contained and then lie down
with the companions OF youth and for centuries
and centuries, throughout the great eternity. let
our ashes mingle with those we loved so we'll