Year: 1876

BY PROF. DAVID SWING.


There are many melancholy scenes
on earth. The millions of poor in
Ireland might well touch all souls
with pity. All over the world there
are strewn great calamities Of man
kind. A journey among men is much
like passing through forest after a
tornado has just passed by, or like
passing through Calabria on the
morning after the earthquake had
shaken it; but more painful than all
these scenes is the spectacle of mil
lions of youth daily exhausting upon
low pursuits OF childish pursuits and
enthusiasm and an inspiration of soul
implanted by the Creator for the pur-
pose of creating and decorating q
world. Every young heart of man
OF woman carries within it q vitality
that may make, and a genius that
may beautify, a vast empire. AS
God implants in the young bird a
power that makes it at least spread
IFS wings and cast itself upon the
soft air, SO into the young bosom
which He loves more than He loves
the sparrows, He has cmptied an urn
OF enthusiasm, of hope, of sentiment,
of love, of ambition, which are to be-
come the wings of all subsequent
flight. Trusting yourselves, my
young friends, to these wings, the
great air Of the world will softly and
sweetly bear you up. But to permit
this holy vitality to exhaust itself in a
saloon, beneath the pavement, to
compel the inspiration of the young
heart to spend its divine resources
upon drunken song or to study only
the shape and colorings of a toilet,
to turn away such gifted spirit from
the intoXications of learning, of art
of culture, of religion, and make il
beat its bright wings only in the foul
cages of vice, is the most painful OF
all the pictures seen in the drama OF
man-so painful because so vast and
so influential for wrctchcdness.


The classic books, which nearly all
of you have read, (thanks to that
public education which has given the
worlds literature to all the rising
gcneration) told you of a lake called
"Avernus." "Avernus means bird
less. Located in the desolate crater
of an extinct volcano, poisonous
air issuing from the Internal depths
hung over the dark water, and stupe
fed the eagle Or the nightingale that
tried to pass from shore to Shore
Suddenly the wings became power
less, and the eagle with his pride, and
the nightingale with its song, fell
into the river of death. Let us
bless the classics that they have
handed down to us such figure 0.
human life. There is a lake of pleas
ure, of folly, Of sin lying near the
homes Of the young. A deadly all
hangs over it. The young, forgettu
or ignorant Of its fatal vapors, spreat
their wings upon its hithcr shore
those wings made in heaven, ant
good enough for angels. But at las
their flight is checked, and be th,
heart once proud like the eagles, o
sweet with song like the lark's, alik,
it falls into the dark flood.


Thus, all ye young, be assured tha
the wonderful activity within and th'
rosy imagination of these days are
power that should be busy construct
ing the future. A happy middle lif
does not spring up out of itself. Th'
eloquence of Henry Clay did no
come to him in 1880 or 1910, whel
he stood in the height of power, bu
came in that rosy light of orator,
that hung over his cradle in l777 an(
in that longing of the soul that mad,
the cornfields of Virginia the au
diencc of his rccitations and solllo
quies. Thus all greatness comes
from permitting the inspiration o
youth to pour itself along som,
sacred path. At twenty-five the trick
ling drops have become q stream; a
thirty the streamlet has become ;
majestic river. The heart will ncye
become as powerful again as it wa
when it was young and possessed th'
power TO enlarge the future, and, lik'
the sun, draw up sweet water from
that outspread sea. The sadness o
old age lies partly in its inability t.
paint any longer in brilliant colors
Unless old age finds itself full of tn,
poetry and rapture stored up in lIfe'.
morning, it becomes solemnity,
face turned downward. The blessed
ness of young life lies in its privilege
Of singing: