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Newspaper Page Text
THE OLD YEAR IS DEAD, THE NEW IS BORN FULL
OF HOPES AND PROMISES
" BY JANE WHITAKER
"The King is dead; long live the
A bedlam of noise is let loose;
sirens shriek; shots ring out, horns
are tooted; women laugh and men
cheer. The old year is dead; the
new year is born.
That is how you greet it in the
city, little sister, but do you remem
ber how it was in the long ago when
you were "back home"?
Remember the little stone church
that was almost a mlie away; remem
ber the cold, biting wind that flecked
snowflakes in your face and colored
your cheeks like red apples?
Remember how you raced brother
to the foot of the hill and how you
pushed some snow down his collar
while mother protested that she
would send you home if you couldn't
It wasn't at all serious, then, was
it? But after you got in the little
church and had greeted all your
neighbors, and the minister had stood
in the pulpit and opened the watch
meeting with a song service, some
how all your bright spirits were sub
Somehow you began to feel quite
solemn and to wonder why?
And then you remembered. The
old year was dying!
Why, it wasn't possible ! Only such
a little while ago it began and you
had planned to do 'so many things
this year. You were going to study
so hard, and you were going to spen'd
so much more time helping mother,
and you were going to stop answer-
g father1 in that quick, selfish way,
a you were going to be a better
to brother and now it was too
;e and you hadn't done it.
d just like an "Amen" the "min
er was saying: "Forgive us tne
gs we have done which we
should have left undone and remem
ber not the things we have left un
done that we should have done." V
And you slipped your hand softly
into mother's hand and she looked at
you and smiled through misty tears
because she knew just how you were
feeling, and maybe she was thinking
of sometimes when she knew you
hadn't meant to be quite as mean as
you were because she squeezed
your hand back again.
And just as you were sure you
were going to cry the minister
stopped talking about the sad old
year that was dying and began to
tell of the glad new year that was
being born. He began to talk of new
life, of new hope, of new promises.
And you winked back the tears and
smiled. There wasn't anything to
cry over, anyway. Perhaps you
hadn't done as you should but you
were going to do right in the future.
Just wait and see what you would
do in the new year. You bet you
would study hard, and you would
help mother, and you would stop an
swering father in that quick, selfish
way, and you would be a real pal'to
And you sang the next hymn with
all your might, and you didn't feel
the least bit doleful when the church
bell rang -out its solemn twelve
strokes and then hesitated and
rang just one. The old year was
dead, and the new year was born.
That was in the long ago. You
do not go to watchmeetings now, do
you, littlejsister. Perhaps you are one
of-the merry throngon the streets
downtown, perhaps you are one of
those who try to be happy by being
hilarious in the gilded cafes.
But it doesn't change things, does
it, little girl?
Thcold year dies with its memories
and its regrets and the new year
is born with its promises.
A clock has been invented which
runs by its own weight. ,