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||The Long Ago
by Jacob William Wright
The Press in the Forest Publishers
Copyright 1916 by J. W. Wright
Then said he unto me,
Go thy way,
Weigh me the weight of the fire,
Or measure me the blast of the wind,
Or call me again the day that is past.
II Esdras IV:5
|| 1 The Garden
2 The River
4 Butter, Eggs, Ducks, Geese
5 The Sugar Barrels
6 Jimmy, the Lamplighter
8 The Autumn Leaves
9 Getting in the Wood
10 The Rain
12 When Day is Done
||The day is done, and yet we linger here at the window of the private office, alone, in the early evening. Street sounds come surging up to us - the hoarse Voice of the City - a confused blur of noise - clanging trolley-cars, rumbling wagons, and familiar cries - all the varied commotion of the home-going hour when the city's buildings are pouring forth their human tide of laborers into the clogged arteries.
We lean against the window-frame, looking across and beyond the myriad roofs, and listening. The world-weariness has touched our temples with gray, and the heaviness of the day's concerns and tumult presses in, presses in . . . . presses in . . . .
Yet as we look into the gentle twilight, the throbbing street below slowly changes to a winding country road . . . . the tall buildings fade in the sunset glow until they become only huge elm-trees overtopping a dusty lane . . . . the trolley-bells are softened so that they are but the distant tinkle of the homeward herd on the hills . . . . and you and I in matchless freedom are once more trudging the Old Dear Road side by side, answering the call of the wondrous Voice of Boyhood sounding through the years.