covered with young pines, seedlings of the Lord, and full of sap, and
proof against the worm.

Yet these are the same youth who yesterday wrote the "Autobiography of
a Fountain Pen" and "The Exhilarations of the Straw-Ride" and the
essays on "The Beauties of Nature." It is I who am not the same. I
have been changed, renewed, having seen from my stump the face of
eternal youth in the freshmen pines marching up the hillside, in the
young brook playing and pursuing through the meadow, in the young winds
over the trees, the young stars in the skies, the young moon riding
along the horizon

"With the auld moon in her arm"--

youth immortal, and so, unburdened by its withered load of age.

I come down from the hill with a soul resurgent,--strong like the heave
that overreaches the sag of the sea,--and bold in my faith--to a lot of
college students as the hope of the world!

From the stump in the woodlot I see not only the face of things but the
course of things, that they are moving past me, over me, and round and
round me their fixed center--for the horizon to bend about, for the sky
to arch over, for the highways to start from, for every influence and
interest between Hingham and Heaven to focus on.

"All things journey sun and moon
Morning noon and afternoon,
Night and all her stars,"--