As the Sun Goes Down

AS THE SUN GOES DOWN By Joseph Jenkins The sun goes down in the west to some of us and leaves a trail of desolation and regret. Along the path toward the setting sun, many of us see only skeletons and desert waste. To those whose lives have been full of faith and hope, to those whose actions have been clean and pure, to those whose trust in God has been humble and sincere, to those who have fulfilled the great commandment — "love thy neighbor" — to all these, the sun goes down, not upon a scene of desolation and death, but sinks to rest upon the opening of a brighter life. O what regret must be for the one whose life has not the spirit of love and service in it! This life is not one for mere pleasure and lightness. These, if not used rightfully, will leave only vain sorrow and sadness. Life is but one step in the great chain of the eternities of progress through which we must pass in gladness or in sorrow — gladness because of our having lived this life with the ideal in view that life is wonderful and good, and having met our sinking sun with face up and head erect, pure and undefiled; sorrow because our lives have been wastes and deserts and the trail, lighted by our sinking sun, strewn with skeletons and desolation. The sun does not go down in the west for those fine old people whose lives have been so filled with loving kindness to others. It goes toward, and opens up, the morning of a new and brighter day. There have been shadows along the way, but the shadows have been only there to make the flowers and the paintings of Nature more beau- tiful. To the lives blessed with faith and service, darkness and waste do not enter therein; but in the evening of such lives there is the beginning of a new day — a day with fewer shadows and cares, but still a day on which the sun shines in splendor, and to which is added art of color and gladness of earned rewards. Can we picture a sadder life than one without faith, without hope, without service, one whose sinking sun sets across a desert waste, and whose rays of light try to brighten up the blighted life of wasted efforts? To such a life, the sun goes down, really down. In the morning of youth, the sun shines bright and clear. Our paths of life toward the setting sun are made by us. Along these paths we will place those things we love and do. Some will have flowers of gladsome service toward others, while others will have beginnings of decay in body and mind. As the sun of life reaches the zenith above those whose lives have been consecrated to doing good in the earth, it will see the good acts blossom into fruit. The wielders of service will be able to rest in the shade of the trees of kind-

AS THE SUN GOES DOWN 365 ness planted by them. But the sun will only bleach and whiten the bones of wasted life for those whose sun really goes down, really down. There should be no setting sun with us. It should be but the ushering in of a newer and gladder day, one filled with more chances for service, one in which shadows will be fewer and services greater. What shall it be, a setting sun for us? Or shall our setting sun really be our rising and morning sun, when we reach the evening of life? May God help us to follow a rising sun, as we journey through this life, so we can say with the poet, "The morning breaks, the shadows flee." What shall it be, a rising or a setting sun for me? What shall it be, a rising or a setting sun for me? What shall I give, a wasted life or one in service free? Where shall I look, toward the morning or the evening star? What shall I find, true happiness, or waste and desolation far? What can I say to those whose morning life begins to open? What can I do for those whose faith in God and man is broken? When shall I help those souls whose lives are filled with vain regrets? Where shall I go for help in salvaging of human wrecks? Why need have faith in God who ever reigns above? When shall we give, if giving indicates our love? Live but to die, to die when life has long endured? A heaven of rest, or to that place by sin and desolation lured? For me, for me, A rising sun I seek to find, And thus to make my spirit free. Ephraim, Utah David H. Cannon President of the St. George Temple Born Liverpool, England, April 23. 1838; Died December 24, 1924, St. Geroge, Utah He said goodby without a fear; He knew his friends and kindred dear Were waiting on the Other Side, For him the gates stood open wide! Full rich in sheaves, and crowned with years, And oh, the joy and heart-felt cheers To greet in pure affection dear The friends for whom he labored here! How bright his fair celestial dawn! (From shadows of the earth withdrawn) Poised, active to his latest breath, Serene and glorious in his death! Minnie Iverson Hodapp