The Voyage of Life.

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE.

SIR HENRY THOMPSON, F.R.C.S.

133

[From an address delivered at the Twentieth Grand Festival of the Lancashire and Cheshire Band of Hope Union, in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester, April 17th, 1875. After addressing the adult portion of the assemblage, Sir HENRY THOMPSON turned to the galleries containing the children, and continued as follows]:

I

SEE another audience before me, and I ask your kind permission to say a few words to my young friends. I was originally much impressed by the invitation of your secretary, because it would bring me face to face, I was told, with 2,000 children. I do not flatter you young people when I say I would rather talk to you than to the grown-up people; and I will tell you why. It is because that of you and such as you the world twenty years hence will be made. I do not care nearly so much for those who, like myself, will most likely have finished their lives before the century is over, but I care a great deal for those who will form the world in the year 1900 and afterwards. I do care a great deal about that coming world which is now in its cradle; and it is because I should like to have some little influence on that future, that I ask permission to say a few words, and but very few, to you.

You are now at the outset of life. You are about to make the Voyage of Life, as it is often called. What a good old figure of speech that is which likens our life to a voyage! You have not quite started yet, I take it. You are now outfitting; you are getting the stores together which are always necessary to every ship when it goes on a voyage. You will be exposed in the course of the voyage to storms, rocks, and quicksands. Some of you will have a smoother voyage and some a rougher one; but all must prepare the necessary stores. You will have to look after the rigging, to take care of the sails and of a hundred things which belong to the outfit generally.

But especially you must see to the compass, for that is the

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The Voyage of Life.

most important thing in the ship. The compass is a little bar or needle of iron delicately balanced, which turns always towards the north, and by that the ship is guided, and by it you know what course to go. Now what is the compass in your outfit for life? You have all received more or less of moral or of religious instruction, giving you good principles, so that you know for the most part before any act is presented to you whether it is right or wrong to do it. That is your

conscience, and that is what I call the compass. It is this conscience, this power of judging between right and wrong, which each of you has more or less, but which in nobody is quite perfect perhaps, that I want you to take care of during your voyage through life.

I once heard a story of a ship that was lost because the carpenter merely left his axe, a very useful tool, near the compass. That axe being of iron and magnetic as it is called, drew the needle aside, and the ship, being steered out of its course, was lost. Now in advising you to take care of the compass, which is to be your guide in your voyage through life, let me ask each one of you to be particularly careful what you take on board your little ship for its voyage.

spoils your conscience, or Therefore in your outfit And you are taking care;

And here let me tell you that it is my experience that there is nothing in this world so likely to interfere with the compass as the habit of taking strong drink. I do not know anything like the habitual use of strong drink-especially, of course, when it is carried to excess-which so impairs the faculty of telling right from wrong, which so what I have called the compass. take especial care of this matter. and I wished to tell you how right you are, and to bid you God-speed in your course. You are going safely, because you have declared that you will take this voyage of yours without anything at all of that kind which can injure your compass. And when you have started on your voyage, I daresay that many a little ship may come alongside, and you will be told by the crew: "O, we take this sort of

The Little Fishers.

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thing with us and it does us no harm; why don't you?" Don't be led away by anything of that kind. Strong drink is never more likely to be dangerous than to those who are so sure it cannot do harm. If you can do without it, and you can, you will be much safer not to have any of it on board.

May

And now I have finished, and shall say no more. each and all of you traverse the ocean of life successfully; may each of you bring his little ship safe into harbour at last!

THE LITTLE FISHERS.

A

MRS. HAWTREY.

LL among the slippery rocks,

Wetting shoes and spoiling frocks,

See Fred, and May, and little Flo!

Net in hand, they cunning look
In each sea-weed hidden nook,

And watch the prawns dart to and fro.

"Catch them-catch them quick!" cries May.
"Hold the net down-that's the way,

Just as the fisherman would do."

In the water, Fred, knee deep,

Sinks his net, and makes a sweep,
And some are caught, and some leap through.

"Will they bite me?" falters Flo.
Braver May replies "Oh no!

Now hold the basket-that's the thing!

Shut the lid, or out again

They'll jump back and what would Jane

Say, if no supper home we bring?"

The prawns they swim, the prawns they leap;
But suddenly the pool gets deep,

And little Flo calls out to May.

The rising tide has nearly caught her,

And fill'd her little shoes with water,

And see! the basket floats away.

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Haste Not! Rest Not!

Fred, in alarm, flings down his net,
And catches Flo (his darling pet),
And in his arms he holds her tight,
Grasp my jacket, May!" he cries,
As to gain the shore he tries,
And struggles on with all his might.

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Wet-as wet as wet can be-
Stand the little shivering three,
No prawns, no basket, and no net.
Long, I think, 'twill be ere they
Are allowed to go and play

At catching prawns, and getting wet.

HASTE NOT! REST NOT!

GOETHE.

WITHOUT haste! without rest!

Bind the motto to thy breast!

Bear it with thee as a spell;

Storm or sunshine, guard it well!

Heed not flowers that round thee bloom;

Bear it onward to the tomb!

HASTE NOT! Let no thoughtless deed

Mar for e'er the spirit's speed;

Ponder well, and know the right,
Onward, then, with all thy might;
Haste not-years can ne'er atone
For one reckless action done!

REST NOT! Life is sweeping by,
Do and dare before you die;
Something mighty and sublime
Leave behind to conquer time;
Glorious 'tis to live for aye

When these forms have passed away!

HASTE NOT! REST NOT! calmly wait;
Meekly bear the storms of fate;
Duty be thy polar guide-

Do the right whate'er betide;
Haste not-rest not-conflicts past,
God shall crown thy work at last!

The Death of Prince William.

137

THE DEATH OF PRINCE WILLIAM:

1120.

JOSEPH DARRAH.

O! Barfleur town is bright and gay,
For Henry, England's king, to-day,
To Britain's shores doth sail away,

With spirits high and light;
For all the Norman barons brave,
Their homage to the monarch gave,
And raising high the battle-glave,
Acknowledged, as his right,

That William, Henry's son, should be
The future Duke of Normandy.

Bright banners flutter in the air,
Which blazoned words of welcome bear;
And bravest men and ladies fair,

Throng in the crowded street;
A gentle breeze sweeps o'er the sea,
Where rides, in strength and majesty,
The royal fleet.

And as the shades of eve draw nigh,
The King rides to the shore;
A great and goodly company
March bravely on before;
His barons bold behind him ride,

Their mettled coursers prance;
And virgins bright, on either side
The royal cortege, dance:
And soon the English fleet sets sail,
And aided by a gentle gale,

Flies from the shores of France.

The Prince's ship, howe'er, delays,

Though midnight's hour is near:
No cloud obscures the sky, nor haze,

The moon shines bright and clear,
And countless stars bedeck the sky,
And form a gorgeous canopy,

Reflected in the deep.

Then why is not the anchor weighed ?
Why is the Prince's course delayed?—