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And knows a hand hath turned the team astray.
He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride,
YOUTH, for whose ear and monishing of late,
I sang of Prodigals and lost estate,
Have thou thy joy of living and be gay;
But know not less that there must come a day,-
When thine own heart shall speak to thee and say,-
When Finis comes, the Book we close,
With backward step, from stage to stage
There is so much that no one knows,
So much un-reached that none suppose; What flaws! what faults!-on every page, When Finis comes.
Still, they must pass! The swift Tide flows. Though not for all the laurel grows,
Perchance, in this be-slandered age,
The worker, mainly, wins his wage;— And Time will sweep both friends and foes When FINIS comes!