Thou art warned of reefs and shallows; thou beholdest the harbor and its lights.

What? shall thy wantonness or sloth drive the gallant vessel on the breakers?

What? shall the helmsman's hand wear upon the black lee

shore ?

Vain is that excuse; thou canst escape: thy mind is responsible for wrong:

Vain that murmur; thou may'st live; thy soul is debtor for the right.

To-day, in the voyage of thy life down the dark tide of time, Stand boldly to thy tiller, guide thee by the pole-star and be

safe;

To-day, passing near the sunken rocks, the quicksands and whirlpools of probation,

Leave awhile the rudder to swing round, give the wind its heading, and be wrecked.

THE crisis of man's destiny is Now, a still recurring danger: Who can tell the trials and temptations coming with the coming hour?

Thou standest a target-like Sebastian, and the arrows whistle near thee:

Who knoweth when he may hit? for great is the company of archers.

Each breath is burdened with a bidding, and every minute hath its mission;

For spirits, good and bad, cluster on the thickly-peopled air: Sin may blast thee, grace may bless thee, good or ill this

hour:

Chance, and change, and doubt, and fear, are parasites of all. A man's life is a tower, with a staircase of many steps, That, as he toileth upward, crumble successively behind

him:

No going back, the past is an abyss; no stopping, for the present perisheth;

But ever hasting on, precarious on the foothold of To-day.
Our cares are all To-day, our joys are all Tc-day;
And in one little word, our life, what is it, but-To-day?

OF TO-MORROW.

THERE is a floating island, forward, on the stream of time,
Buoyant with fermenting air, and borne along the rapids;
And on that island is a siren, singing sweetly as she goeth,
Her eyes are bright with invitation, and allurement lurketh
in her cheeks;

Many lovers vainly pursuing, follow her beckoning finger,
Many lovers seek her still, even to the cataract of death.
To-morrow is that island, a vain and foolish heritage,
And, laughing with seductive lips, Delusion hideth there.
Often, the precious present is wasted in visions of the future,
And coy To-morrow cometh not with prophecies fulfilled.

THERE is a fairy skiff, plying on the sea of life,

And charitably toiling still to save the shipwrecked crews;
Within, kindly patient, sitteth a gentle mariner,

Piloting, through surf and strait, the fragile barks of men:
How cheering is her voice, how skilfully she guideth,
How nobly leading onward yet, defying even death!
To-morrow is that skiff, a wise and welcome rescue,

And, full of gladdening words and looks, that mariner is
Hope.

Often, the painful present is comforted by flattering the future,

And kind to-morrow beareth half the burdens of To-day.

TO-MORROW, Whispereth weakness; and To-morrow findeth him the weaker;

To-morrow, promiseth conscience; and behold, no to-day for a fulfilment.

O name of bappy omen unto youth, O bitter word of terror

to the dotard,

Goal of folly's lazy wish, and sorrow's ever-coming friend, Fraud's loophole,-caution's hint,—and trap to catch the

honest,

Thou wealth to many poor, disgrace to many noble,

Thou hope and fear, thou weal and woe, thou remedy, thou

ruin,

How thickly swarms of thought are clustering round To

morrow.

The hive of memory increaseth, to every day its cell;
There is the labor stored, the honey or corruption;
Each morn the bees fly forth, to fill the growing comb,
And levy golden tribute of the uncomplaining flowers:
To-morrow is their care; they toil for rest To-morrow;
But man deferreth duty's task, and loveth ease to-day.

TO-MORROW is that lamp upon the marsh, which a traveller never reacheth;

To-morrow, the rainbow's cup, coveted prize of ignorance; To-morrow, the shifting anchorage, dangerous trust of mariners;

To-morrow, the wrecker's beacon, wily snare of the destroyer.

Reconcile conviction with delay, and To-morrow is a fatal lie; Frighten resolutions into action, To-morrow is a wholesome

truth:

I must, for I fear To-morrow; this is the Cassava's food; Why should I? let me trust To-morrow,-this is the Cassava's poison.

Lo, it is the even of To-day,—a day so lately a To-morrow; Where are those high resolves, those hopes of yesternight? O faint fond heart, still shall thy whisper be, To-morrow, And must the growing avalanche of sin roll down that easy slope ?

Alas, it is ponderous, and moving on in might, that a Sisyphus

may not stop it;

But haste thee with the lever of a prayer, and stem its strength

To-day:

For its race may speedily be run, and this poor hut, thyself, Be whelmed in death and suffocating guilt, that dreary Alpine snow wreath.

PENSIONER of life, be wise, and heed a brother's counsel,
I also am a beadsman, with scrip and staff as thou:
Wouldest thou be bold against the past, and all its evil
memories,

Wouldest thou be safe amid the present, its dangers and temptations,

Wouldest thou be hopeful of the future, vague though it be and endless?

Haste thee, repent, believe, obey! thou standest in the courage of a legion :

Commend the Past to God, with all its irrevocable harm,

Humbly, but in cheerful trust, and banish vain regrets; Come to him, continually come, casting all the Present at his feet,

Boldly, but in prayerful love, and fling off selfish cares;

Commit the Future to his will, the viewless fated Future; Zealously go forward with integrity, and God will bless thy faith.

For that, feeble as thou art, there is with thee a mighty Con

queror,

Thy friend, the same for ever, yesterday, to-day, and to-mor

row;

That friend, changeless as eternity, himself shall make thee

friends

Of those thy foes transformed, yesterday, to-day and to

morrow.

OF AUTHORSHIP

GREAT is the dignity of Authorship: I magnify mine office; Albeit in much feebleness I hold it thus unworthily.

For it is to be one of a noble band, the welfare of the world, Whose haunt is on the lips of men, whose dwelling in their hearts,

Who are precious in the retrospect of Memory, and walk among the visions of Hope,

Who commune with the good for everlasting, and call the wisest, brother,

Whose voice hath burst the Silence, and whose light is flung upon the Darkness,

-Flashing jewels on a robe of black, and harmony bounding out of chaos,

Who gladden empires with their wisdom, and bless to the furthest generation,

Doers of illimitable good, gainers of inestimable glory! We speak but of the Magnates, we heed none humbler than the highest,

We take no count of sorry scribes, nor waste one thought upon the groundlings;

Our eyes are lifted from the multitude, groping in the dark with candles,

To gaze upon that firmament of praise, the constellated lamps

of learning

Everduring witnesses of Mind, undisputed evidence of Power, Goodly volumes, living stones, build up their author's temple; Though of low estate, his rank is above princes,-though needy, he hath worship of the rich,

When Genius unfurleth on the winds his banner as a mighty leader.

Just in purpose, and self-possessed in soul, lor of many ta lents,