Grief is a deep rooted thing, and
yet the kind hands of relentless
time will transform into lovely flow
ers the blooms that budded in the
midst of heartbreak.
Tears, even as April rain, serve
their purpose in God’s great eternal
plan, and only those who suffer the
anguish of bereavement can hope to
see the glory of a spiritual dawn that
follows the darkest night.
God hangs a merciful curtain in
front of tomorrow’s trials and tribu
lations, and, in retrospect. He heals
the wounds of yesterday. Even the
death of a loved one seems less tra
gic, in the far-off panorama of days
that are no more.
So weep not, gentle heart, life is
for the living, and life must go on.
Such is our destiny, and our obliga
tion to the loved ones for whom we
mourn. God, in His wisdom, brings
us into the world, and in His wis
dom He opens the door that takes
us out of it.
Have faith in the Creator of all
things lovely. Faith that can say in
humble submission, “God is good.
His mercy is everlasting, and God
knows what is best.’’
The NEW BERN
. PUBLISHED WEEKLY
' IN THE HEART OP
ASTERN NORTH
^ ' A ^/r^'ROLINA
VOLUME 4
NEW BERN, N. C., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1961
NUMBER 31
Because we’re in a mood to count
our blessings on this November
morning, we’d like to share with
you a prayer that someone has pass
ed along to us. We don’t know the
author, but it is called “a prayer for
the middle-aged.”
“Lord, Thou knowest better than I
that I am groudng old and will some
day be jjjeptLme irom getting
loquacious, and particularly from
the fatal habit of linking I must say
something on every subject, and on
every occasion.
“Release me from the craving to
try to straighten out everybody’s af
fairs. Make me thoughtM but not
moody; helpful but not bossy. With
my vast store of wisdom it seems a
pity not to use it all — but Thou
knowest. Lord, that I want a few
friends at the end.
“Keep my tongue free from the
recital of endless details; give me
wings to get to the point. Seal my
lips on my aches and pains. They
are increasing and my love of re
hearsing them is becoming sweeter
as the years go by. I dare not ask
for grace enough to enjoy the tales
of others’ pains, but help me to en
dure them with patience.
“Nor do I ask for improved
memory, but for a growing humility
and a lessening cocksureness when
my memory seems to clash with the
recollections of others. Teach me the
glorious lesson that occasionally 1
may be wrong.
“Keep me reasonably sweet. I do
not want to be a saint — some of
them are so hard to live with — but
a sour old person is one of the
crowning works of the Devil.
“Give me the capacity of seeing
good things in unexpected places,
and talents in unexpected people.
And give me the grace to tell them
so. Aihen.”
Maybe the crankiness of advanc
ing years is blinding us to the finer
qualities of the younger generation,
but it seems to us that kids of today
are less enterprising than their coun
terparts in past generations.
What puts us in mind of this ob
servation is the recollection of five
small youngsters we once saw in
front of the New Bern Morris Plan
Bank (now the Bank of New Bern)
several decades ago.
One of the five discovered a quar
ter reposing beneath an iron grat
ing on the sidewalk in front of the
bank. With considerable speed they
rounded up a long stick and some
soft, gooey tar.
They put some of the tar on one
end of the stick, poked it through
the grating, and after painstaking
maneuvering came up with the coin.
Then they discovered a dime down
(Continued on Paso 8)
—
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A DREAM TAKES SHAPE—It’s onW the beginning, but ac
tivity at the site of the planned Craven County Hospital
gives an indication of things to come. Construction is un
der way, and an institution that citizens voted a bond issue
for will eventually serve the needs of many who require
hospitaliaztion. It will be a happy day when the structure is
completed.—Photo by Billy Benners.
OUT OF THE PAST—^Here is another of those ancient pho
tographs that seem to delight readers of The Mirror, but
frankly we don’t know who these men and beasts are. In
fact, we can’t even identify the location. The gents are evi
dently local firemen and it’s obviously a gag picture at some
tournament. Put your specs on, Grandpa, and set us
straight.