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Show A Little Retrospection By C. N. Lund. I Will life lead us home again, j nowTi the willow lane at dusk? I Boys and girls, chums and j playmates of the long agq, I have walked along the old trails i of the home town and they didn't i seem like they used to be when you were all there and we walked and ran and played together. Many of the old homes seem different dif-ferent to what they used to be. Some of them look like homes . with broken hearts. Some are , crumbling; seme have been torn down and replaced. In the process pro-cess of change and growth they ' will shortly be but memories. But there are nooks and corners, and lanes and streams that appareut- . iy haven't changed in fifty years. As I looked upon them and walked walk-ed there alone, I thought of each one of you and recalled my associations asso-ciations with you in other times. It seems so many years since we walked the old paths together. And yet what are forty or fifty or sixty years in the long stretches of time? As I stood on the porch in front of the little home where I was born, I looked out upon the streets, the fields, the hills, the skies and the stars, and I did a little piece of artistry by putting each one of you in the place you occupied forty or fifty years ago. What a thrilling picture pic-ture it was! And what music played up to the setting! The happy speech, the ringing laughter laugh-ter of the boys and girls; the gentle rippling of streams, the singing of birds; the rustle of the summer wind. How I bless the old comrades, the old sights and scenes, the old homes and the folks who were there. Many of us have found other trails, other friends, other homes; but there don't seem to be anything just like the things and sights and places of long ago when the morning morn-ing of life was sweet and rich with ecstacy. Many have departed depart-ed this life; others have wandered far, never to return; but to each and all, memory will never cease to be a day star bright and beautiful. beau-tiful. It won't, be long until all of us will have come to the end of the trail. I pray for each one that his or her last days may be like a glowing sunset, and filled with a goodly part of the beauty and the glory that the places at home held for us when we were boys and girls. And may we meet in one great and lasting reunion on the other side, and all be caught up in some part of the glory that emanates from the great white throne! Will life lead us home again, Down the willow lane at dusk, When the success we've struggled strug-gled so hard to gain Shall lie in our hands, a husk? |