And, turning, I saw an old man at my side, Whose silver locks swept his broad shoulders--whose brow Showed no furrow or scar from Time’s rugged plow; His eye beaming bright as in infancy’s days, While his every word seemed attuned unto praise. “Too true! but ’tis past--all the horrors of war, Persecution and slavery, now are no more. This edifice, piled with mementos of sin, Tells how wicked and vile former ages have been, When, to deepest abysses of infamy hurled, They lived and they died without God in the world. But, thanks be to Him, the Father and Son-- An unending reign of peace hath begun, And the Holy Spirit now circling the earth, All creation is pure as when called into birth. But few enter here--too painful the sight-- Other scenes, other objects our people invite; To do good and communicate is our sole aim And our works prove, as Christians, we merit the name. Then mourn not, my friend, at the picture of crime That polluted the world and the record of Time, Up! pilgrim! I bid thee, God-speed on thy way ’Till it lead through the mists to perpetual day!” I arose--deep gratitude filling my heart, From such a wise counsellor, loth to depart. “Many thanks,” I rejoined, “for thy true kindness shown-- Henceforth I will look on the bright side alone. Farewell! for thou art well, thy words clearly prove Though thy home be on earth, thy life is above!” We parted, with souls in communion true, He, to point out the past, I my path to pursue. Deep musing upon the old things I had seen. To doubt almost inclined that such had e’er been, But in grateful emotion that vice, crime and war O’er this our fair earth should run riot no more, I stood by the edge of a wide and deep bay, Whose blue waters mingled with ocean’s white spray; On its shore vessels lay with canvass full furled, While others were fitting to sail round the world. They floated as light on the clear glassy tide As snow-breasted swans in their beauty and pride; Buoyed up by some new--some magical art, The gentlest zephyr impelled them to start, And when, leaving port, the wind filled each sail, They skimmed the wide waters like leaves in a gale. But, far stranger than these--a wonderful sight, High above, were vast air-ships, with pinions as light As those of the sea bird, that, day after day, Unwearied, in solitude wings its long way. Bright streamers on every side gracefully swayed, Now tossed high in air and now pendent in shade, And I read, as I stood mid the gathering crowd, “The Arrow, the Meteor, the Swift Flying Cloud, The Sunbeam, Wave, Northern Light, Iris,” and more, Moored proudly above that dense peopled shore.” ’Twas a glorious sight as they swung in the air, Impatient, as ’twere, their burden to bear,