Wisdom passed by a people amusing themselves, and began to call out, saying: Lost.. lost.. who will find it? A golden minute, set with sixty seconds of precious stones, lost between the rising of the sun and its setting — no hope of its recovery, for everything can be made good except time.

A truth we have learned, O days, and wisdom repeats it in our ears.

The builders of old perfected their building, leaving in it no gap, no flaw, no weakness, for they believed that the gods watched over their works.

We are the builders, and time is the building material. The minutes, the hours, and the days must be laid in courses as the builder lays the stones of a wall, leaving no stone wanting, lest the structure fall. And if we set every stone firmly in its place, with exactness and fidelity, we shall raise a glorious, beautiful edifice, firm of foundation and steady of pillar, worthy for virtue and lofty morals to shelter in, and fit to receive whoever takes refuge in it and shades himself beneath it.

Look out with your soul, gentle reader, over your days gone by. If you find no living work there, that is a woe upon you and a mockery before the days; and if you find what sets your soul at rest, it will add to your energy and spur you on to more. Before you is a burning war, the long war of life: so work, and strive, and level the obstacles — and the darkest hours of the night must needs be followed by morning.

Man is a tale the days tell. Let each of us, then, set down his book about himself in this life, folded around his hopes and his works. If it is great, the days will keep it, a lesson of profit and an example

to be followed; if not, they will cast it into the corners of oblivion and neglect.

The days are history — the his-tory of the age gone by. The gen-erations past tell us of those who came before us, and those to come will speak of us to those who come after us. The days are a harsh, truthful overseer, who neither indulges nor flatters, who adds no merit and conceals no fault.

Every soul must have its day on

which it reviews its history. What a fearful stand, if it should find it empty! And how great its pride, if it finds it full of living works — a shining light, and a pleasing tale for the days.

So let our work be beautiful and strong, like close-set masonry that does not fall.

Every man passes through the world, and the days, no doubt, will speak after him.

Esterbrook

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