The philosophy of Jake Haiden (late Jacob K. Huff) : $b selected from the columns of the Reading Times, Reading, Pennsylvania : with a biographical appreciation by his friend Henry W. ShoemakerHuff, Jacob K.
Philosophy
The philosophy of Jake Haiden (late Jacob K. Huff) : $b selected from the columns of the Reading Times, Reading, Pennsylvania : with a biographical appreciation by his friend Henry W. Shoemaker
Huff, Jacob K.
American essays; Huff, Jacob K., 1851-1910
Great hopes are not always dreams of future glory and fame. The modest
life and unostentatious efforts of the humble worker bring greater joys
to some hearts than all the glories of political success. So the hopes
that are buried with a favorite child are as many and as varied as the
flowers of the hills and meadows.
But, whatever the hopes, the heart-aches are ever as deep and pathetic,
and the tears as bitter with regret.
HOW MANY HOPES LIE BURIED HERE
How many hopes lie buried here
With our darling, we loved so dear!
When his dear life ended,
The shadows blended
With the darkness so cold and drear.
And the sad refrain,
Again and again,
Tells of a mother’s tears and pain,
Year after year, year after year.
How many hopes? Ah, God alone
Knows how many lie under this stone!
Of the mind well directed,
Of the man they expected—
Death ended all, the spirit has flown.
And that sad refrain,
Again and again,
Tells of a father’s great heart pain,
Always yearning for the boy that is gone.
How many hopes? The breezes sigh,
Softly whispering while passing by:
Fondest hopes of a mother’s breast,
Hopes that pleased the father best,
Reaching from earth to the sun-lit sky.
Now the sad refrain,
Again and again,
Tells of the father’s and mother’s pain—
A great heartache that will never die.
Ask the mother how many tears
To wash that memory from the years?
Ask the gloomy father why
Comes that half-unconscious sigh?
As the sound of a lov’d voice disappears.
Ah, that sad refrain,
Again and again.
Tells the story of grief and pain,
Which the mellow-hearted reader hears.
INGRATITUDE
Ingratitude is the crime of weak, inferior intellects. The man who will
eagerly accept favors of another, and not feel grateful towards the donor
afterwards, displays the coarse inferiority of the brute. The savages and
barbarians are noted for their spirit of gratitude. They never forget a
kindness. The genuine superlative ingrate is generally the spectacular
white man. The man in whom vanity and self-interest predominates all the
finer feelings of the soul.
Very often he is a self-sainted molder of public opinion, standing high
in the church and political circles, with an inordinate appetite for
public position where he can be observed by the passing world. He is the
self-stuffed hypocrite who pretends to love humanity—for the profit it
will bring him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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