aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.

* * * * *

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring."

Rabbi Ben Ezra.

Accompany me, my young friend, in my survey of life from youth
to old age.

The present life does not rise to its best and then decline
to its worst; "the best is yet to be, the last of life,
for which the first was made."

The indecisions, perplexities, and yearnings, the hopes and fears
of youth, I do not remonstrate against. They are the conditions
of vitality and growth, distinguish man's life from
the limited completeness of the "low kinds" of creation,
"finished and finite clods untroubled by a spark"; and should be prized
as inseparable from his high rank in existence.

Life would have nothing to boast of, were man formed but to experience
an unalloyed joy, to find always and never to seek. Care irks not
the crop-full bird, and doubt frets not the maw-crammed beast.
But man is disturbed by a divine spark which is his title to
a nearer relationship with God who gives than with his creatures
that receive.

The rebuffs he meets with should be welcomed. Life's true success
is secured through obstacles, and seeming failures,
and unfulfilled aspirations. He is but a brute whose soul is conformed
to his flesh, whose spirit works for the play of arms and legs.
The test of the body's worth should be, the extent to which
it can project the soul on its lone way.

But we must not calculate soul-profits all the time.
Gifts of every kind which belong to our nature should prove their use,
their own good in themselves. I own that the past was for me
profuse of power on every side, of perfection at every turn,
which my eyes and ears took in, and my brain treasured up.
The heart should beat in harmony with this life, and feel how good
it is to live and learn, and see the whole design. I who once
saw only Power, now see Love perfect also, and am thankful that I
was a man, and trust what my Maker will do with me.

This flesh is pleasant, and the soul can repose in it,
after its own activities. It is the solid land to which it can return
when wearied with its flights; and we often wish, in our yearnings
for rest, that we might hold some prize to match those ma