THE MARCH OF LIFE.

Less from evils borne we suffer Than from those we apprehend, And no path through life seems rougher Than the one which we ascend. But though Time delights in dealing Wounds which he alone can heal, And the sorrows wed to feeling Make it misery to feel; Nobler than the soulless Stoic, He, who, like the Theban chief, Till the fight is won, heroic Hides the rankling dart of grief. Lords of an immortal glory Be the slaves of mortal shame! No; though Martyrdom before ye Rear a precipice of flame. On the barriers that dismay us Carve the charter of your birth; True endurance, like Antæus, Strengthens with each cast to earth. Wayward man too often fritters Living destinies away, Chasing a mirage that glitters To bewilder and betray. Then press upward in the vanguard; Be not guided by the blind; For when Vigor waves the standard Triumph is not far behind. It was that which led the marches Through the Revolution's snows, And through Jena's fiery arches Rolled destruction on its foes. Then if failure blunt your spirit, Think of this before you swerve: He has glory who has merit— It is royal to deserve.