the
great design--we know not, though our unconscious hands are helping to
accomplish it. Like the tiny coral insect working deep under the dark
waters, we strive and struggle each for our own little ends, nor dream
of the vast fabric we are building up for God.

Let us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that
never will be ours again. Our work lies in front, not behind us; and
"Forward!" is our motto. Let us not sit with folded hands, gazing upon
the past as if it were the building; it is but the foundation. Let us
not waste heart and life thinking of what might have been and forgetting
the may be that lies before us. Opportunities flit by while we sit
regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness that comes to us
we heed not, because of the happiness that is gone.

Years ago, when I used to wander of an evening from the fireside to
the pleasant land of fairy-tales, I met a doughty knight and true. Many
dangers had he overcome, in many lands had been; and all men knew him
for a brave and well-tried knight, and one that knew not fear; except,
maybe, upon such seasons when even a brave man might feel afraid and yet
not be ashamed. Now, as this knight one day was pricking wearily along a
toilsome road, his heart misgave him and was sore within him because of
the trouble of the way. Rocks, dark and of a monstrous size, hung high
above his head, and like enough it seemed unto the knight that they
should fall and he lie low beneath them. Chasms there were on either
side, and darksome caves wherein fierce robbers lived, and dragons,
very terrible, whose jaws dripped blood. And upon the road there hung a
darkness as of night. So it came over that good knight that he would no
more press forward, but seek another road, less grievously beset with
difficulty unto his gentle steed. But when in haste he turned and looked
behind, much marveled our brave knight, for lo! of all the way that he
had ridden there was naught for eye to see; but at his horse's heels
there yawned a mighty gulf, whereof no man might ever spy the bottom,
so deep was that same gulf. Then when Sir Ghelent saw that of going back
there was none, he prayed to good Saint Cuthbert, and setting spurs into
his steed rode forward bravely and most joyously. And naught harmed him.

There is no returning on the road of life. The frail bridge of time on
which we tread sinks back into eternity at every step we take. The past
is gone from us forev