been somewhat sweeter in that dewy morning of creation, when it was young and fresh, when the feet of the tramping millions had not trodden its grass to dust, nor the din of the myriad cities chased the silence for ever away. Life must have been noble and solemn to those free-footed, loose-robed fathers of the human race, walking hand-in-hand with God under the great sky. They lived in sun-kissed tents amidst the lowing herds. They took their simple wants from the loving hand of Nature. They toiled and talked and thought; and the great earth rolled around in stillness, not yet laden with trouble and wrong.
Those days are past now. The quiet childhood of Humanity, spent in the far-off forest glades, and by the murmuring rivers, is gone for ever; and human life is deepening down to manhood amidst tumult, doubt, and hope. Its age of restful peace is past. It has its work to finish, and must hasten on. What that work may be—what this world's share is in the great Design—we know not, though our unconscious hands are helping to accomplish it. Like the tiny coral insect, working deep under the dark waters, we strive and struggle each for our own little ends, nor dream of the vast Fabric we are building up for God.
Let us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that never will be ours again. Our work lies in front, not behind us; and "Forward!" is our motto. Let us not sit with folded hands, gazing upon
