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COMING TO THE END.pdf

COMING TO THE END.pdf

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Published by glennpease
BY J. R. MILLER, D.D.



WE are always coming to the
end of something; nothing
earthly is long-lived. Many
things last but for a day;
many, for only a moment.
You look at the sunset clouds, and there is a
glory in them which thrills your soul; you
turn to call a friend to behold the splendor
with you, and it has vanished, and a new
splendor — as wondrous, though altogether
different — is in its place.
BY J. R. MILLER, D.D.



WE are always coming to the
end of something; nothing
earthly is long-lived. Many
things last but for a day;
many, for only a moment.
You look at the sunset clouds, and there is a
glory in them which thrills your soul; you
turn to call a friend to behold the splendor
with you, and it has vanished, and a new
splendor — as wondrous, though altogether
different — is in its place.

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Published by: glennpease on Nov 01, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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03/14/2014

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COMING TO THE ENDBY J. R. MILLER, D.D.WE are always coming to theend of something; nothingearthly is long-lived. Manythings last but for a day;many, for only a moment.You look at the sunset clouds, and there is aglory in them which thrills your soul; youturn to call a friend to behold the splendorwith you, and it has vanished, and a newsplendor— as wondrous, though altogetherdifferent— is in its place. You cross a fieldon an early summer morning, and every leaf and every blade of grass is covered withdewdrops, which sparkle like millions of dia-monds as the first sunbeams fall on them ; buta few moments later you return, and not adewdrop is to be seen. You walk throughyour garden to-day, and note its wondrousvariety of flowers in bloom, with their mar-velous tints and their exquisite loveliness ;[275]Ci^e "Beawtt of ^clf^Controlto-morrow you walk again along the samepaths, and there is just as great varietyand as rich beauty, but all is changed.So it is in all our personal experiences.Life is a kaleidoscope ; every moment the viewchanges. The beautiful things of one glance
 
are missing at the next, while new things—  just as lovely, though not the same— appearin their place. The joys we had yesterdaywe do not have to-day, though our heartsmay be quite as happy now, with gladness just as pure and deep. In a sense, to mostof us, life is routine, an endless repetition— the same tasks, the same duties, the samecares, day after day, year after year ; yet inthis routine there is constant change.We meet new people, we read new books, wesee new pictures, we learn new facts, whileat the same time many of the old familiarthings are continually dropping out of ourlives. The face we saw yesterday we missto-day, and there are new faces in the throng ;the songs we sang last year we do not singthis year ; the books we used to read with zest[276]Coming to tl^e CnDwe do not care for any longer ; the pleasuresthat once delighted us have no more charmfor us ; the toys that meant so much to child-hood and were so real have no fascinationwhatever for manhood and womanhood; thehappy days of youth, with their sports andgames, their schools and studies, their friend-ships and visions, are left behind, thoughnever forgotten, as we pass on into actuallife with its harder tasks, its rougher paths,its heavier burdens, its deeper studies, itssterner realities. So we are ever coming to
 
the end of old things and to the beginningof new things. We keep nothing long.This is true of our friendships. Our heartsare made to love and cling. Very early thelittle child begins to tie itself to others' livesby the subtle cords of affection. All throughlife we go on gathering friends and bindingthem to us by cords of varying strength,sometimes light as a gossamer thread and aseasily broken, sometimes strong as life itself  — the very knitting of soul to soul. Yetour friendships are ever changing. Some[277]Ci^e OBeautt of telecontrolof them we outgrow and leave behind as wepass from childhood and youth to maturity ;some of them have only an external attach-ment, and easily fall off and are scarcelymissed and leave no scar.In every true life there is an inner circleof loved ones who are bound to us by tieswoven out of our heart's very fibres. Theclosest of these are the members of our ownhousehold. The child's first friend is thechild's mother; then comes the father; thenthe other members of the family are takeninto sacred clasp by the opening life. Byand by the young heart reaches outside andchooses other friends from the great worldof people and out of the multitude of passingassociates, and binds them to itself withfriendship's strongest cords. Thus all truemen and true women come up to mature years

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