with his loins girded, hoping to conquer in the hard battles of life.
Let the incense of Duty cling to his garments and keep him clean from
selfish contagion. How lovely the picture of that old man of Goldsmith's
time, swinging the Golden Censer before the hearts that throbbed in
unison with him:
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all;
And as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Our duty was created with us. It is a pleasure to live. What then should
be the pleasure to think there is a place for us--a duty beneficently
made that gives us rights with our fellow-creatures? What though the
duty may try your soul and stagger your capabilities? "Skillful pilots
gain their reputation from storms and tempests." Bear up with patient
courage--"the bird that flutters least is longest on the wing." "Duty is
the stern daughter of the voice of God."
Let us then, upon entering this stately Temple of Life, cast into the
Golden Censer our courage, our hope, our energy, our love, our industry,
and all those qualities which go to make the air around us redolent with
the fragrance of the achievements of life. It cannot then well be that
we shall lack in allegiance to our Maker, our country, or ourselves.
"Duties are ours; events are God's."
"On parent knee, a naked, newborn child,
Weeping thou satst while all around thee smiled;
So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,
Calm thou mayst smile while all around thee weep."