of all our efforts to steer them, would get into the current, and so be
carried down the stream out of our sight; while some at once turned on
their sides, got filled with water, and became dismal wrecks.

I can remember well how happy we were in spite of all such disasters and
losses!

But we should have been surprised indeed in those days if anyone had told
us, as we launched our boats, and watched them sail away from land--to
"America" or "India," or any of those far-away places where we used to
pretend they were going--that we were like those boats of ours. And yet it
would have been true, for we too had been launched; the voyage of life had
begun for us; and every birthday that came found us a little farther from
the place from whence we had started--a little nearer to the end of the
voyage, the place whither we were bound. Yes, in this sense you and I and
all the people in the world are voyagers on the stream of time. But this
voyage of our life--how long will it be?

That is one of the things which no one can tell. God alone knows.

In one sense the story of your life may be soon told; your little voyage
down the stream of time may be very short, and your boat may reach the
great ocean of eternity before many birthdays have come and gone. But in
another sense it is a story without an end; and this is what makes your
beginning such a great thing to think of. It is a beginning which has no
end; the part of you which is most really yourself, must live on always.
You can never stop living for one moment; for there is on board your little
boat a wonderful passenger. God has put into you a living soul, which can
never die.