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Show Two OH Friends To-day I've been thinking of my old home town; thinking of old time friends and wondering as to their general welfare as they plod the upward or the downward road of life. It's mighty easy to zr down hill, but the thing worth while you must climb the hill to obtain. Gently I unfold the scroll wherein are stored the pictures of these old time friends, and, one by one, they silently pass before my unb'lured vision and I gaze upon up-on the panorama of friends stored away in memory's cells, for lo, these many vears. I see them as 1 knew them long ago. as youngsters nn their way to school: I hear them ;tand and recite the lessons under the dirrtion of the teacher. 1 ouietlv take my place in the class, along' with them, to spoil and misspell miss-pell the pronounced words along with mv vouthful friends. With hem I answer, when the roll is called, at night ''Not whispered; not called, not tardy.' Oh, Bro- ther Day, how many times have J, alongwith them, had to stretch the truth when I made answer to tho daily roll call? To sit in school all day and never whisper would be a super-human task for a lot of boys and girls, full of pep, vim and energy. en-ergy. And yet we all went home, so far as I know, with a clear conscience con-science of work well done. Oui work might have been well done, but I am not gambling on the "no whispering" at the nightly roll call. Among the pictures of mind photography pho-tography appearing in clear cut vision, vis-ion, two of these friends stand out among all the rest, just a little more prominent?', and it is of these two friends I am sending out my friendly salutation. It has been a long time since 1 last saw one of them to talk to face to face. The other one I have seen within the past two years. One of these friends wrote me a letter just thirty-eight years ago while he was on a foreign mission. mis-sion. I have just reread it. Its invigorating tone, its' companiable friendship just sent a thrill thru my physical system, like the tinkle of a bell as the scho dies away on the circumambient air. The other letter is dated a short time later, breathing the same genuine friendship friend-ship that flows from a heart true as steel to one whom he trusted as a friend. I cherish both as friends. These two letters bring back to me the days of early manhood, ere the grip of making money was as strong in ihe human heart as it is to-day. The writer of the lirst letter still lives; his life being an open book to those who know him now, as well as to the writer w-ho has known him all down the years of his well spent life. The other friend, whose voice I had learned to love in days gone by, has passed on to that dreamless shore, and his voice is now buried in the silence of the grave. He sleeps out there with those who knew him best in mortal life. I "If words were flowers in a garden Gay I'd pick a few, And group them in a beautiful bouquet and give to him." No mere will I hear that gentle voice, unafraid to chide me when he thought I might do better by giving heed to his advice, and likewise like-wise giving me a word of praise when he knew I was in the line of duty and trying to do the right. I Such was my friends whose voice is silent now, yet speaks to me. My , other friend who still walks the j pathway of life is none the less sensitive as to my human conduct, nor would he hesitate to chide me, in a friendly wa,y for my derelec-tion derelec-tion of duty; or to extend that friendly greeting by word of encouragement, en-couragement, of work and duty well performed upon my part, as 1 journey with him on the pathway of life. "If words were jewels, to be won or bought, Id take a few, And string them on a golden chain of thought, And send to him." As I write these few words in commemoration of these old friends I am carried back thru the short span of lire to the days of my boyhood; boy-hood; and I see them today as 1 nc-ss, full of innocent fun, full cf knew them of yore, full ofboyish-energy ofboyish-energy and life and yet all the while serious in their devotion to life and what it exacts from each and all of us, as we make our way down its pathway, or up the grade to tho end of the highway. They were not unmindful cf the fact that "Life is loal, life is earnest, And the grave is not its goal," hence they steadily pursued the path thai, brings its own. reward with good and noble work in their onwaid course in life. One has gone to his reward, two of us await the call. ' Beyond us rolls the boundless extent of what we call eternity, and somewhere in the distance is our future home. We are waiting for our craft to sail. Sooner or later we must go." I hepe to meet my old friends, Ab-iam Ab-iam Johnson, and C W. Sorenson, together with a host of others, who are waiting on the other shore. Amasa Aldrich |