our dream of life, for if visions belong: to the THE 



YOTTTHFR TF 



young, it is ours to dream dreams. 



Pitiful is the life that has lost all the joy of 

 youth, to whom "the fine gold has become 

 dim," to whom dewdrops are no longer pearls, 

 as once they were, nor flowers revelations of 

 love unutterable! Sad must be the soul for 

 whom knowledge, custom, experience, fate, 

 error, and sin have dulled, darkened, and dead- 

 ened all things! Hopeless is he who is unable 

 to bring over the present something of the bliss 

 and beauty of the past, and has no confident 

 look toward the future! Lonely the old who 

 dream no dreams of hope and peace! For it is 

 not meant that youth shall have all the best 

 of life, any more than spring has all the best of 

 the year. 



Shall we despair because the flowers of 

 spring are gone, or because some day of storm 

 and rain has strewn the turf with their fair 

 petals ? 



"So, some tempestuous storm in early June, 



When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, 



Before the roses and the longest day — 



When garden walks and all the grassy floor 

 [ 75 1 



