The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1878-01-10

duties devolvlng on HIM TILL 1t be TOO
late; then, at the close of a misim-
proved life murmur, "there was moth
ing to remind me that time was pass
ing so rapidly away" Great indeed
are the responsibilities Of man in this
stage Of life; hence not moment
should pass unimproved, for time once
past is gone forever.
To the young it gently whispers
observe the farmer; in the spring he
prepares the ground and plants the
seed for future harvest; if the earth
be we'll prepared and good seed plant
ed, he will reap an abundant harvest;
but if the soil be not properly plowed,
and poor seed be planted, his harvest
will be poor in quality and scant in
quantity.
So it is with you and me, my young
friends; youth is the springtime of
life; if we prepare our minds well,
and then fill them with knowledge,
we will be able in future to fill our
stations in life as they should be filled;
but on the contrary, if we neglect the
culture, and fill our minds with things
which are bad, we will be despised in
life and go down to our graves with
the consciousness that our life has
been an utter failure-worse than if
we had never lived. l hope there is
not a single one in this house who
will choose the latter course.
The youthful, as a rule, are proud
spirited and suppose they have a long
life before them; but this is mistake;
life at best is as flash Of light on the
roads of time; it is best expressed by
the poet; and you will please pardon
the quotation.
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like swift, fleeing meteor, fast flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, break of the wave,
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and
the high,
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.
The infant mother attended and loved
The mother that infants affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant who
blessed,
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest
The maid on whose check, on whose brow, in
whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure her triumphs
are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and
praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hama of the king that the sceptre hath
borne;
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath
The eve of the sage and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depth Of the grave.
The peasant whose lot to SOW and to reap;
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up
the Steep
The beggar, who wandered in search of his
bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint who enjoyed the communion Of
heaven.
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just
Have quietly mingled their bones with the
dust.
So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the
weed
That withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told
For we are the same our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have
We drink the same stream and view the same
sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers
would think;
From the death we are shrinking our fathers
would shrink,
To the life we are clinging they also would
cling;
But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned, but the heart of the naughty is
cold;
They grieved but no wall from their slumbers
will come;
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is
dumb