Sabines, the pleasing change from the sharp winter to the soft zephyrs
of spring, the apple-bearing autumn,--"season of mists and mellow
fruitfulness"? What need to be unhappy in the midst of such a world?

And the man who is wise will not only recognize the abounding
possibilities about him, but will seize upon them before they vanish.
Who knows whether the gods above will add a tomorrow to the to-day? Be
glad, and lay hand upon the gifts of the passing hour! Take advantage of
the day, and have no silly faith in the morrow. It is as if Omar were
translating Horace:


"W_aste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit_
0_f This and That endeavor and dispute;_
B_etter be jocund with the fruitful Grape_
T_han sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit._

"A_h! fill the Cup: what boots it to repeat_
H_ow Time is slipping underneath our Feet:_
U_nborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,_
W_hy fret about them if today be sweet!"_

The goods of existence must be enjoyed here and now, or never, for all
must be left behind. What once is enjoyed is forever our very own. Happy
is the man who can say, at each day's close, "I have lived!" The day is
his, and cannot be recalled. Let Jove overcast with black cloud the
heavens of to-morrow, or let him make it bright with clear sunshine,--as
he pleases; what the flying hour of to-day has already given us he never
can revoke. Life is a stream, now gliding peacefully onward in
mid-channel to the Tuscan sea, now tumbling upon its swirling bosom the