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★ Editorial and City Oft Section or fiearsn Sunday American, Atlanta, Pectmbtr h, wu».
| The Madman on the Shore of Time
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/n Vain He Searches for the Chance PASSED BY.
Like Him, in Vain YOU Will Search for the Opportunity
That You Have Let Fall.
To Keep Watching, to Keep Working, to Let Brain and
Hand Go Together---That Is the Secret of Success.
e Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved
AGORE, the Indian poet,
whose first name is Rabin
dranath, has received this
year the Nobel prize for
the best work in litera
ture.
Nobel was the Scandinavian who in
vented nitroglycerine. He gave to the
world dynamite that destroys life and
makes war dangerous.
He left to civilization his vast fortune
that prizes might be given each year for
the best work of the human mind.
Tagore, the poet, who wrote his poems
in the Bengali language of India, receives
the prize this year.
And we give to you here, as the text
for a Sunday sermon which you your
self can write, one of Tagore’s stories.
An old man believed in the “touch
stone” or “Philosopher’s Stone.”
Somewhere, he thought could be
found that magic stone with the touch
that would change base metals to gold.
He went along the shore of the ocean,
with his right hand he picked up one
stone after another, one pebble after
another—thousands, tens of thousands,
hundreds of thousands of them.
Around his neck he had a chain of iron.
And as he picked up each stone he
touched it wtih the chain.
The Philosopher’s Stone, if he found
it, would change that iron chain to a
chain of gold.
Day after day, and through the long
years he hunted for that magic stone that
was to make gold of iron and make of
his restless, yearning heart a happy and
contented spirit.
One day a boy asked the old man
where he got that chain of gold on his
neck.
And the poor, sorrowful old hunter
looked down to find that the iron had
changed to gold AND HE HAD NOT
KNOWN WHEN THE CHANGE CAME
OR WHAT STONE IT WAS THAT
WORKED THE MIRACLE.
He had got so much in the habit of
picking up stones and touching them
against the iron chain that he no longer
thought to look for the change from iron
to gold.
At some time during his search HE
HAD PICKED UP THE MAGIC STONE
AND DROPPED IT.
The stone had done its work, the
iron had changed to gold. But he did not
know WHEN the thing had happened or
WHICH was the stone that had accom
plished the wonder.
Back he turned on his path. Old, bent,
weary and hopeless, he started on the re
turn journey along the shore of the
ocean, which is THE SHORE OF LIFE
AND TIME, and hopelessly sought to re
cover the opportunity neglected and
missed.
« * *
Are you this man searching for the
touchstone of success and magic AND
NOT KNOWING WHEN YOU PICK
IT UP?
Millions of human beings once actually
hunted for the Philosopher’s Stone, be
lieving that it would change iron to gold.
The beginning of the science of chemis
try was the work of the ancient alchem
ists, who, in their struggles to manufac
ture gold artificially, discovered many
important scientific truths that are now
of great value to mankind.
They did not learn how to change lead,
iron or copper to gold; but they learned
how to change human thought and ex
periment into pure golden, priceless, sci
entific knowledge.
One single experiment resulting in the
discovery of a new scientific truth was
worth more in actual wealth to the people
of the earth than would have been the
creation of a mountain of gold a thou
sand miles high.
There is a limit to the use that men
can make of gold, but no limit to the use
i
that men can make of that better gold,
ABSOLUTE TRUTH AND KNOWL
EDGE.
* * *
What a fine parable is this Tagore
story of the miserable madman retrac
ing his steps to pick up the lost Touch
stone.
How many of us, in our old age, are
doomed, like that miserable creature on
the seashore, to turn back, grope and
search vainly and pitifully for the
chance that we dropped from our hands
in our youth!
What a lesson for the young, in the
dreadful face of that old man as he
comes back, retracing his steps so miser
ably, hopelessly and uselessly!
«• * «
We no longer search for the Touch
stone or the Philosopher’s Stone. We
know that work, not magic, must change
the heavy, dull iron of toil and monotony
to the gold of success and opportunity.
But millions of us are like the madman
in Tagore’s story. And, like him, we
find in old age that we have held the
magic stone in our hands only to drop
it without seeing what it was.
When that poor madman began his
search for the touchstone HE DID THE
WORK WELL AND CAREFULLY.
His mind was alert, keen and atten
tive, like the mind of an ambitious boy.
As he picked up each stone and
touched it to the iron chain around his
neck he looked at the stone and he
looked at the chain to see if it had be
come gold.
He believed then. AS YOU BELIEVE
NOW, that he would CONTINUE <o do
his work attentively and seize the chance,
seize the precious stone of opportunity as
soon as it came within his reach.
But little by little he grew careless—
DO YOU GROW CARELESS?
Little by little he began to do his work
mechanically—do you do your work me
chanically?
He picked up the stones hut did not
look at them. He touched the chain of
iron but did not look to see if it had
changed to gold.
His work had become a mere routine
of the body, and the brain played no part
in it—has your work become a mere rou
tine in which your brain plays no part?
* * *
To all of us, or nearly all, opportunity
comes. To that madman the Touchstone
came. He held it in his hand. He
touched the chain of iron and it turned
to gold.
But he had become tired of careful
work, tired of watching for that which
he sought. He had changed from a seek
ing mind to a dull machine.
He did not see the stone, he did not see
the iron change to gold.
Some one else must tell him, old and
worn and bent, that he had missed his
opportunity. He turned back along the
shore, hopelessly seeking for that which
he would never again hold in his hand.
* * *
Here is a lesson for you, young or old.
At anv moment a chance may come.
ARE YOU KEEN AND READY TO
SEIZE IT?
Opportunity does not come to the
dull hand or the heavy foot. It comes
TO THE OPEN, EAGER MIND.
The brain must be rested, well fed,
normal, attentive, PERCEPTIVE.
If you dull it with dissipation, if you
dull it with drjnk, if you dull it with to
bacco, if you dull it with lack of sleep
lack of fresh air, stupid living, YOUI
BRAIN WILL NOT NOTICE THE
CHANCE WHEN IT COMES.
And in late life some younger man will
tell you, as the boy told Tagore’s mad
man, “You had the chance in your hand
and you let it fall.”
Here we give you word for word as he
himself translated it from the Bengali
dialect, Tagore’s story of the madman.
Read it, and make it a useful lesson to
yourself, or to some young man or
woman near you who needs it.
THE WANDERING MADMAN.
A wandering madman was seeking the
touchstone, with matted locks, tawny and
dust-laden and body worn to a shadow, his
lips tight pressed, like the shut-up doors of
his heart, his burning eyes like the lamp of
a glowworm seeking its mate.
Before him the endless ocean roared.
The garrulous waves ceaselessly talked of
hidden treasures, mocking the ignorance that
knew not their meaning.
Maybe he now had no hope remaining, ye*
he would not rest, for search had become his
life
Just as the ocean forever lifts its arms to
the sky for the unattainable
Just as the stars go in circles, yet seeking
a goal that can never be reached
Even so on the lonely shore the madman,
with dusty, tawny locks, still roamed in
search of the touchstone.
One day a village boy came up and asked,
“Tell me, where did you come at this golden
chain about your neck?”
The madman started—the chain that once
was iron was verily gold; it was not a dream,
but he d'd not know where it had changed.
He struck his forehead wildly—where, oh
where had he, without knowing it, achieved
success?
It had grown into a habit to piok np
pebbles and touch the chain and to throw
them away without looking to see if a change
had come; thus the madman found and lost
the touchstone.
The sun was sinking low in the west, the
skv was of gold.
The madman returned on his footsteps to
seek anew the lost treasure, with his strength
gone, his body bent and his heart in the dust,
like ajree uprooted. _
*
Copyright. 1913, by tl