State prison, or the gallows. While, on the other
hand, take a man who has been accustomed to labor and toil for
his daily food, and see how much more he is respected, and what a
difference there is in the lives of those two men. The one is beloved
and respected, and the other is miserable and degraded.
The industrious man begins life, and perhaps has no better prospects
before him than his companion; but see how much better he ends life
than the other. He begins to climb the ladder of science, and by
perseverance, he will soon reach the top round, and he can not do this
unless he improves his time.
We have ample proof that unless we improve our time we can not be
happy or respected, and when we have a feeling of indolence come over
us, we must shake it off and try to arouse our energies, and we must
bear in mind that for every idle moment we must give an account at the
bar of God on the judgment day, before God and man.
Lines, Written on the Death of Frank.
For their darling boy they weep,--
For their beautiful and bright,
Who sweetly fell asleep,
One mild, autumnal night,
And the wind his requiem sang,
As his spirit passed away,
From this world of toil and pain,
To the realms of endless day.
They bore him to the grave,--
To his long and silent home,
Where the trees in summer wave.
And the birds and blossoms come;--
Where the sunlight faintly creeps,
And the autumn breezes moan,
There the loved one softly sleeps,
In his chamber dark and lone.
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