“To suffer and endure, To keep the spirit pure— The fortress and abode of holy Truth— To serve eternal things Whate’er the issue brings This is not broken Age, but ageless Youth.” If then life be centered on self, old age may rest in the certitude of disappointment and disillusion. But if self be centered on life, then may come what Morley described, touching Edmund Burke, as “an unrebellious temper and hopes undimmed for mankind.” Twofold must be the hope of man,—for a future for self and for the future for all. And when the soul is so freighted with hopes, then shall it be said of a man as it was said of the great poet: “He was one of those on the lookout for every new idea and for every old idea with a new application, which may tend to meet the growing requirements of society; one of those who are like men standing on a watch-tower to whom others apply and say, not ‘What of the night?’ but ‘What of the morning and of the coming day?’” My one word of counsel is,—let life not be centered on self, for to live for self is to invite cruel disaster in old age. The saddest, in truth the most tragic, lives I know are those of old men and women who have nothing to live for because they have lived for self and self alone,—and self is nothing. Their lives are piteously empty. For the restlessness and excitement of youth may hide this truth, but age, like death, is a revealer. And there are many types of selfishness. I speak of two which must suffice. There are those who live for self,—for selfissimus, giving not the utmost for the highest but all for the nighest,—self, self, self, self’s pleasure and profit and power and vantage and fame. These are the most crude and obvious types of the selfful, who shall pay the penalty of their folly and their moral disease. But, though it be said to your dismay, there are other types of selfishness, though less obvious,—the selfishness of those who project self into and magnify self in family relationship. For there are those who simply extend the horizon of self enough to include other forms of self, one’s own, one’s nearest, one’s flesh and blood. And here, too, disillusion is bound to come and ought to come, for one’s own cannot and ought not to fill one’s life forever. One might well excuse our mothers and fathers for giving their thought and attention to their own, for these were many and life was hard and life’s struggle ofttimes bitter. But for the fewest is such excuse valid now,—if ever it was valid—especially seeing that we concentrate upon the giving to others of things rather than upon helping others to their highest and best. In truth, people concentrate upon self, upon their own interests and wishes, and these things pass and little or nothing is left in life save self. Live for yourself, and you live two years in one; live in the life of others, and you divide your years with another.