SONGS OF THE HEART. II. future is only an idea. It is never a fact, until it becomes the present. O, what "Am I now the same 'little girl' to you I plans for the future such persons have! always was?" O yes thou art the same to me, Is still upon thy face; And though thou art a woman grown, I see thee with thy flaxen hair I see thee with the promise of And all the power of time to crush, Is vain; thou'rt still the same to me- From girlhood I have known thee well, My "little girl," the Fates declare As now, thou evermore shall be- PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE. BY REV. J. J. AUSTIN. G. T. F. All time may be divided into the Past, the Present, and the Future. The past is gone forever, except as it instructs the present, by the light of experience. The present is always now, and is the only time for action and for accomplishment we shall ever have. The future is just beyond our reach, and when it is reached it becomes the present. Now is the only time we can call our own. The past was ours, the future may be ours, but the present certainly is ours. This is all we can say of a certainty. Men often talk of the future, as of something sure. They have lived, till the future became the present, and rushed into the past. They think it may be so, again and again, and again. But they seldom pause to think, that the They are going to be wealthy, or wise, or great, or good, at some future time. They are always preparing for something to come. And all too often, they miss the real happiness of life, because they do not understand that now is the only time. I make these remarks, because of the restless desire of the world to put off the present, and to grasp the future. People too seldom are happy now, because they look to the future for happiness. They are preparing to-day, for enjoyment byand-by. They are apt to forget that tomorrow is in another world. When it becomes to-day, it is not to-morrow. very next moment is always just beyond our reach. The only time we shall ever have, is "the now," as Carlisle would say. A very great lesson this; and one, too, which is yet to be learned by the great mass of mankind. The Why do this man, and that, and the other, labor so excessively in their several callings? Is it because they find their highest happiness in the hardest labor? O, no, indeed! They would not work so hard, if it were not for having an easy time of it by-and-by. They do not mean to slave themselves to death forever. They may have had a good, comfortable, independent living, for a long time, but they only want a little more wealth, and then they intend to take the world easily. But before they are aware of it, their heads are sprinkled with gray, their limbs palsied, their ears stopped, their eyes dimmed, their minds uncultured, their hearts all overgrown with weeds, their passions confirmed and clamorous, their life a des ert waste; the present time a burden, and the future filled with imaginary evils, or hoped for only because of the quiet rest of the grave! How many there are who thus abuse the blessings of the present earthly time! If the cold lips of the grave might speak, they would thus record the history of thousands, "They lived, they worried life away, they are gone!" O, yes, there is no time like the present! It is not for selfishness, it is not for worldliness alone, but it is for individual, domestic, social and religious enjoyment. The same may be said of the future, when it becomes the present. If we are ever wise, if we are ever good, if we are ever happy, it must be now. We may grow in happiness, as day succeeds to-day, and year follows after year. But the great fact is, and a very great fact it is, that now is the only time. The past was indeed, a great reality. Its light and experience have come down to us, for the last six thousand years. The records of the past are with us to-day; The foot-prints of the past are enstamped in the very rocks, which lie beneath our feet. The rubbish of the past lies scattered all abroad on the shores of the world-ocean. The enduring monuments of the past will stand while the world stands. But after all, our relations and duties are linked with the present. We must make our mark now, or never. What we do, must be done to-day. The present opportunity will soon be lost forever. The progress of the soul, in knowledge and holiness, is the soul's great work, reaching through. all time, and all eternity. Eternity itself shall come and go, giving us only a moment of time at once. That moment is always now, and must be seized as it flies, or it is lost forever. It is never the past; it is never the future; it is always present time. A poet of to-day has given us a very beautiful sonnet, bearing upon this point. "Why should men ponder o'er the olden time? Why linger o'er the grandeur that is gone? Sad is the visage of the Past, and wan, Mournful her form and bearing, though sub lime! be done in present time. It is in vain for us to sit down to wait for a more golden opportunity. Such opportunities are coming and going, as rapidly as time flies. It is never best to crowd the " coursers of the sun," and you cannot hold them in if you would. Whoever says, "wait a little, and wait a little longer, and a little longer still," will never accomplish anything. He is "Fixed like a plant to some peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate and rot," and the world is none the better for his having been. Whatever is not done while for "soon the night cometh when no man "it is called to-day," is not done at all, can work." And the future will be a great reality, when it becomes the present. Now, it is just beyond our reach. As the future, it will always be beyond our reach. But eternity shall pass before us, as separate particles of time. Every moment of that time bears relation to the whole, as each heart-beat counts one in the longest life. Are we using these moments well? crowding them full of duty and happiness, as they pass before us? That is the great question! Each moment that is lost, is lost forever. Yet there seem to be multitudes who are squandering their lives away-floating like flood-wood on the ocean of life, instead of breasting the billows and battling the storm!-playing like children at " hide and seek," when they should be doing the sturdy work of men and women! picking up toys and pebbles, on the beach, only to throw them away again, when they pass the dark waters of Acheron. As another has beautifully said : "Opening the map of God's expansive plan, fruit, and gather into the barn. Every one has something to do. It is not enough, that we go to church and hear, and then fold our hands, and sit down in stolid idleness, and wait, and wait, and wait forever. Such a man, such a woman, is only a drone in the world of busy life, and will certainly be driven out in the cold storm to starve and die! He that will not work, neither shall he eat," is the Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore; law in spiritual, as in temporal things. With care collect what in their eyes excels Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells; Then, laden, dream that they are rich and great, And, happiest he who groans beneath his weight! The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, And every hour sweeps multitudes away; And what shall become of the vast multitudes who live and die in ignorance, error and sin? A very dark question, indeed, were it not for the light of Revelation. The Psalmist says, "The Lord shall rejoice in his works." If that be true, the past, the present, and the future shall work out the all-loving purpose of the Lord. Purity, holiness and love, shall reign forever and ever. The darkened past, the twilight of the present, and the gleaming future, shall eventuate good. Every sinner shall, some time and somewhere, cease to be a sinner. Every mind and every heart in the whole Universe, shall be attuned to the cadence of love divine. Salvation shall spread its wings afar, over all the inhabitants of all worlds. And then, and never till then, will the Infinite Father rejoice over all his works. But before that time shall come, a vast amount of labor must be performed. Here lies the practical point of our present theme. Every one has something to do, and ought to be held responsible, and is, for doing that something well. One is better fitted to work in this way, another in that, a third in another still, just as some men become farmers, others mechanics, others lawyers, doctors, merchants, scholars, statesmen, &c. So in the Christian field, some may prepare the ground, others plant the seed, others pull up the weeds, and others still may pluck the ripe - - 'By the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread," whether it be temporal bread, or the bread from heaven. O, how many there are who are starving to-day, for the want of that healthy, spiritual appetite, and spiritual food, which only laboring in Christ's kingdom will bring! Some are better fitted for one kind of labor, and some for another. But the great trouble is, most people try to see how little they can do, rather than how much. If they can only get others to do their duties, then are they very happy! Everything goes right thus, even if it do not go at all! They occupy just the position for which they are so admirably qualified, — doing nothing!-mere "lookers on in Venice!" They do not feel responsible for the mismanagement of others, because they had no hand in it themselves, having no hand in anything good of a public character! They are willing to let the past and the future take care of themselves, while they delve in the selfish present, O, how many are the ice-bound Christians of the age-floating away into the polar ocean of skepticism!-and likely to be congealed into ice-statues of hard and cruel unbelief! How many such there are, especially in these times of "war and rumors of war!" They are floating flood-wood, and not living men and women! They are only a burden to benevolent enterprize in the present, doing nothing, or as little as possible, for the world's good! And when they leave this world, the angels will have subjects of reform, which were altogether too hard for the feeble reformers of earth! But all are not such. There are some genuine Christians in all communions, beautiful green isles in the world-wide waste of waters!—oases of lovely flowers, in the sandy plains of the world!-bright of which one A. Tompkins, of great restars, peering down between clouds !-no-nown in the Universalist publishing world, ble men and women, who are ready to is publisher, I have been trying to rouse labor and sacrifice, in times of gloom and myself to the necessities of the case, and peril! the "salt of the earth"!-the prepare an article worthy of your approval light of the world"! Christians, for the press. Not that I have been in a dwelling in that "city' on the hill, dormant state-I am not dead. Not that whose light penetrates the darkness of dis- I have been unwilling to write in fulfiltant nations, and shall flood the valleys ment of an understanding had with the and mountains of coming ages. publisher years ago, which understanding was carried out on my part through an indefinite number of "Letters from the West," and other articles acceptable to the lamented Bacon, and subsequently to his widow, who so ably conducted the pages before sanctified by the ardent breathings of a noble spirit-but finally discontinued by that perverse malady of the eyes that has so long afflicted me, and at times absolutely forbidden all intercourse with the public, and also the dearest friends, by the The glory of the Christian life is now obscured, for a little season, by the angry passions of men, as clouds obscure the sun, when storms descend, and thunderbolts shake the earth. But the storm shall pass away, and the rainbow banner of the Lord shall span the heavens, and the sun of Love shall appear in brightness and beauty forevermore. "Let's pursue the path of progress, now. Works of its research and skill; Paths sublime, the great have trod; CORRESPONDENCE. Letters from Old and New Friends. We often receive letters which we are tempted to lay before the rea 'ers of the Repository, and propose to present two The first from one whom our readers will recognize an old friend-the other from a new one. They give pictures of Western life unlike each other, but equally interesting. We hope our readers will like them as well as we do.-ED. Highland, Clayton Co., Iowa, Sept. 1861. MRS. C. M. SAWYER-Dear Friend: Since the commencement of a change in the editorial department of the Repository, pen. - On the contrary I have felt an irrepressible desire to break up the blockade, and have often attempted it at the risk of physical comfort, but to find my efforts baffled. And now that I am apprised through the press, that sometimes is truthful, that a disease of the optic nerve may terminate fatally at any time, and will do so when it reaches the brain, I am doing my best to indite a few thoughts upon paper. If I mistake not, my brain has often becn affected by my optic nerve disease at least the thoughts from the brain have been, and with long continued impunity, so that I am reckless-indeed I came to this conclusion more than twenty years ago, when suffering from a long and severe attack of the disease in question, that, live or die, I would not be abridged the sight of books-to live without reading was a living death-to die with it preferable-so I have lived and died, lo! these many years, and cannot yet tell whether, more of life or death has fallen to my lot; but I do know that all things are wisely ordered by Infinite Wisdom. There you have a few rambling thoughts enough for your patience enough for my eyes and enough for the publisher, if he thereby learns the reason of my neglecting so long to send him anything in return for the many favors I have received from him. Imagine a preacher in the rural districts of the West, laboring to preach the gospel, whether men will hear, or forbear, in the "regions beyond" other mens' labors, with a support so precarious (save in the never failing promises of God) that I have been obliged to do as better men have done before me, labor with my hands to support my family. Think of going through the exercises of religious service for weeks and months, without manuscript sermons, because unable to write them, or to read them when written of omitting the reading of hymns and the scriptures for the same reason. And when completely prostrated, to wait and rest, and labor with these hands, to gather up strength to go over the same ground again; and you will need no reasons for my not often trying to write anything worth reading; and Br. T. will understand that I think of him, and what I would do for him if I could. To your honored husband, my former teacher, I owe much, and would try to find words fit to express myself to him, if like reasons as above, did not forbid. Excuse these incoherent thoughts, and use, them to light the public or the fire, as you choose. J. STEBBINS. Dear Repository-Although I have met you several times in the house of a friend, I am a stranger to you; and though I am very desirous of becoming acquainted with you, I know, according to ettiquette, it would be improper for me to ask for an introduction until I have first informed you who I am, and what position I occupy. Now start not, nor hold up your hands in holy horror, for I can assure you of a truth, that in addition to the several apartments I have already named. I have often added that of bed-room, when living in a room of this size, and I can say I felt quite comfortably situated. But as I have so far used the pronoun I, perhaps you will infer that I am either an old maid or a widow; but in either supposition you will be at fault; for should you cast your eye out of the window and see that young man dressed in the uniform of a United States' officer, who is now passing through the gate, accompanied by those two young ladies, either one of whom would be forced to look down upon me, on entering the room where I am now writing, and address me by the appellation of " mother," you would at once discard the idea that I was an old maid. But then I am not a widow, although my children and myself live together without the presence of their father-now, do not be hasty and rank me with that unfortunate class, which we Westerners term prov grass widows," for here too you would be at fault. Neither am I going to satisfy your curiosity on that point at present, but will promise to do so at some future time, should you consent to accept of me as an acquaintance and correspondent. I will not longer tire your patience, (I feel quite confident I have succeeded in ing to you that I am "somebody," but will endeavor hereafter to find something of interest; for a residence of eight years has enabled me to recal many an incident of Western life, which may be ininteresting to your Eastern readers; for no country in the world presents a more romantic scenery than does our beloved Iowa. The large expansive prairies being relieved from monotony by the high hills, presenting constant views of velvet bow Well then, to commence-at present, I reside in a very romantic little town Iowa. A beautiful stream winds its way through the place, while high bluffs enclose it on either side, rendering it one of the most romantic and picturesque little towns in the whole world. But as it is not of the place but of my-ers, beautiful groves, deep and romantic self that I am to speak, I will in the first place give a brief description of the house in which I reside. At present I am seated at the writing-desk in my study, a room about sixteen by fourteen feet in size, and which includes besides my study, my sitting-room, dining-room and kitchen, (parlors here are out of the question.) dells, wide and fertile valleys, and these settled by almost every variety of inhabitants on the globe, cannot fail to interest any one unacquainted with Western life and manners. For the present adieu. LAURA STEWART. Elkader, Clayton Co., Iowa. |