Our highest aspiration must wait. We are here to get through the
world. Life is a road where we camp for a night on a journey
to the golden gate and the setting sun; a traveler who sets up
his tent at dark does not plant corn or put out a grapevine,
if when the morning comes he expects to pull his tent down and
march on. Men are born upon the shore of one ocean; by traveling
lightly and never losing a moment, and marching bravely on,
through forest, over desert, mountain and river, the traveler
can reach the other ocean in time to catch the little boat that
slips out into the dark, and sails out of sight with God alone.
But the traveler must not expect to plant harvests and grow
vineyards while out upon his march. Yonder lie the happy hills
of God. There no winter falls, there the summer sheds its warmth
always upon the violet beds. There youth is perfect and beauty
is eternal. There every ambition will be perfected, every dream
realized; every hope turned to fruition, and the soul is a tree
waving its fruit and casting down its purple vintage at the feet
of the God of the summer. (Text.)--N. D. HILLIS.
(1691)