Show Having a Every young man should have a purpose in He should have high He should desire to be of some use in the An purposeless devoid of high ideals is sure to be a A stream does not rise higher than its and a man does not rise above his Aim even if you fail to attain your First be a and then when you have an opportunity you can do a man's part The world is strewn with the human wreckage of purposeless The floater who sits on his waiting for something to turn up in his will remain while the purposeful man who boarded the steamer will pursue his The young man with a purpose will rite above the ideals of the average man around the average ideal is none too The man with a purpose will not be turned from his course by the passing fancies or crazes that pass over the community in which he He will allow these things to pass by and will keep right on his There are many fads that are for the and it is very unpopular for a young man with a purpose to oppose or Weaklings yield to those things that clamor so for but the man with a high ideal keeps right never swerving from the path he has marked for Young will you be chaff to be driven around by every wind that or will you be wheat that cannot be blown about like worthless The choice is UP to decisions that place Every day you are making you among the chaff or the We write these things because there are so many young People who seem to have no purpose in life and are all adrift ready to float Life is too serious too valuable to be lived without a in his of which ought to he Emitted to memory by every and me not in Life is but an Idle For the soul is dead that And things are not what they Life is life is earnest And the grave is not its Dust thou art to dust Was not spoken of the In Nature's By Mary Currier I sat me down by the brooklet's With pencils and paper well To write a poem in Nature's Low at her feet by the woodland The light breeze rustled the branches And morsels of sunlight fell between And dappled the mosses at my feet I could but gaze on a sight so And then from the alders that hid the brook Fluttered a bird to my little I could but watch till he flew While pencil and paper unheeded A bee came buzzing within my And I gazed on him till away he I will soon be My poem I must begin to But for blossoms most fair and sweet Peep out from corners of my And nooks and angles and hollows small Held something one and I wandered home at the close of day With a of mosses green and With wildwood and bits of But on my paper was not a shut me up in my little Fasten the door that I may not Fasten the and shut the Let a be confined Where nor nor Nor nor breeze may call to I will write Of Nature in all her beauty But in her presence no word have She seals my lips and enchants mine a She steals my fancies and my employ Is but to wonder and to |