trackless way of danger and of care;
And from thy cheek, ere tho the Headland find,
The rose will yield its petals to the wind;
And from thy heart an adverse cruel tide
Will steal the dream of hope, and leave—despair.

Consider too, O youth, Earth is a sphere,
And he who journeys to the verge of age,
But comes at eve to where he left at morn,
But views at last the hearth where he was born,
But learns, the bright horizon ne'er draws near
The circle climbers of life's pilgrimage.

Think well, again, thou mayst forever part
From pleasure, seeking pleasure o'er the main.
The good of life—such is the human lot—
Seems only good to those who have it not.
Joy, smiling, opes the portals of the heart.
But when he enters, Lo! his name is Pain.

Nothing but rest can satisfy thy thirst
For happiness. Hast thou on land or sea
Found what was not a weariness at last,
And shall to-morrow cheat thee as the past?
The glowing bubbles of the future burst,
Touched by the finger-tip of Memory.

Thou art a poet, yet perchance may find
The birds will carol more delicious lays;
Thy waves of song may melt in melody,
Yet softer is the music of the sea.
Thou canst not rhyme so sweetly as the wind,
And nature is too subtile for thy phrase.

But leaning on the muffled harp of thought,
Here sweet for thee will sigh the summer wind,
And dreamful will the rhythm of the deep
Upon the shore of silver fall asleep.
Nor wilt thou miss what thou has never sought,
Nor seek what men at last have failed to find.

Yet if thou wilt not heed our counsel sage,
If still thou dost our warning cry despise,
Yon barge will bear thee from these happy shores.
Behold its silken sail, its crew, the oars,
And thou its prow, thro' calm and tempest rage,
Mayst guide in peace at last—if thou art wise.

Thus speaks the Voice to every child, but yet
Youth evermore to Hope will loyal be.
Impatiently I listened to the strain,
Then turned me to the Headland once again,
Which in the early morning light was set
An emerald in a golden ring of sea.

II.—YOUTH.

The slow long wave crept up the ocean marge,
To steal the silver sparkle of the sand;
Then lapsing from the shore, I scarce could feel
Its soft pulsations underneath the keel,
As I sat patiently within the barge,
Until the breeze should bear me from the land.

And as I waited, lo! the morning sun
Rose golden on the misty eastern sky,
And through the rosy dells the sunbeams bright
Stole from the flowers the jewels of the night;
But yet no seaward zephyr had begun
To fill the canvas drooping listlessly.

I saw an aged man upon the shore,
There was a kindly smile upon his face
As thus he spake to me—"Here have I dwelt
For centuries, yet I have never felt
The winds of heaven upon my forehead, nor
Will they e'er visit this spell-haunted place.

Your gaily-painted barge will wait in vain
For favoring winds to fill its silken sail.
If you would ever leave these drowsy shores
Your crew must sweep the waters from their oars.
To win the Blessed Headland o'er the main,
But tireless strength and effort will avail."

I gazed adown the barge; the silent men
Toyed with their oars, awaiting my command;
The first was "Courage"—quick to see and dare,
And next came "Patience," he as ready e'er
To calm an angry brow to peace, and then
Came "Justice"—"Knowledge" sat at his right hand.

I held the rudder. No hand but mine own
Could guide the mystic barge across the sea.
But in the bow stood "Faith," whose vision keen
Discerns what mortal eye hath never seen,
And when a mist across the deep is blown,
Sendeth sweet messages of hope to me.

Why tarry ye, O men? the way is long
To yonder hazy Headland's wave-worn base.
We wait in vain for favoring winds to blow,
'Tis yours to pull the oars. Row, bravely, row,
Keep even stroke, ye merry hearts, with song,
And lead the swift sea-birds a winning race.

The willing oarsmen heard the words, and bent
Them to the toil; but "Knowledge" had not heard,
And still he dreamed upon his trailing oar,
Until the barge had rounded to the shore
We scarce had left. In vain the labor spent.
The old man smiled again. The swift sea-bird

Such rivalry would never fear, said he,
"Knowledge" must pull with "Courage"; "Justice," too,
Must draw his stroke with "Patience," else your barge,
Despite your strength, will never leave the marge,
But still in weary revolutions be
A vanity of vanities to you.

These words to you in parting. O beware
In seeking heaven, lest you despise the earth;
Heaven is both what we are and where we go,
And we are heaven-builders here below;
Alike we take it and we find it there,
And heaven is worth to us what we are worth.

God hath the earth to heaven in marriage given,
See how the ocean yieldeth tenderly
The penciled shadow of the morning bars
Whereon, like notes of music, rest the stars.
Ah! listen, for the azure dome of heaven
Is echoing now the music of the sea.

Love wisely then the earth, and you shall love
The Holy City where the angels dwell.
The gentle light of love will never bring
The circling moth upon his dusty wing.
No thief will steal, no rust corrode above,
Nor in your heart—if love be there. Farewell.

III.—MANHOOD.

So to their oars my boatmen, cheerily,
Bent once again, and then, with steady stroke,
They drew upon the waters till the shore
Grew lower in the distance, and no more
Thro' the gray mist the mentor I could see,
But oft I thought upon the words he spoke.

And oft, O wise Experience, have I found
The lesson true you taught to me that day.
No progress but by toil, and there must be
In heart and mind a vital unity.
Our days are else in vain, and ne'er will bound
The "Barge of Time" upon the heavenly way.

But soon the ripple of an adverse tide,—
Whose darkling bitter waters seemed to stay
The prow,—twined like a sea-weed growth the oars;
A tide that hies forever from the shores
I sought, and with its soft caresses, wide
And far, bears hapless wanderers away.

Yet gallant are the boats that drift along;
Proud are the hearts that float where flows the tide.
The youth whose heated fancy sees afar
The promise of ambition's streaming star,
And he who follows with a careless song
Some godless passion he has deified.

The man of curling lip and brow of scorn,
The worshiper of reason and of self,
The atheist, wanton, and the giddy maid,
The faith-betrayer and the love-betrayed;
Self-righteous pharisees, who would adorn
Or hide with pious garb their love of pelf.

The poet with a poem on his lip,
The writer with an essay in his heart,
The statesman with a law within his brain,
The merchant princes busy with their gain;
Dreamers who reck not that