RECAPITULATION. [Illustration: "E"] Every beginning is shrouded in a mist, those vague ideas beyond, And the traveller setteth on his journey, oppressed with many thoughts, Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos, Some secret path between the cliffs, that seem to bar his way: So, he commenceth at a clue, unravelling its tangled skein, And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him. Then as he gropeth in the darkness, light is attendant on his steps, He walketh straight in fervent faith, and difficulties vanish at his presence; The very flashing of his sword scattereth those shadowy foes; Confident and sanguine of success, he goeth forth conquering and to conquer. Every middle is burdened with a weariness,--to have to go as far again,-- And Diligence is sick at heart, and Enterprise foot-sore: That which began in zeal, bursting as a fresh-dug spring, Goeth on doggedly in toil, and hath no help of nature: Then, is need of moral might, to wrestle with the animal re-action, Still to fight, with few men left, and still though faint pursuing. The middle is a marshy flat, whereon the wheels go heavily, With clouds of doubt above, and ruts of discouragement below: Press on, sturdy traveller, yet a league, and yet a league! While every step is binding wings on thy victorious feet. Every end is happiness, the glorious consummation of design, The perils past, the fears annulled, the journey at its close: And the traveller resteth in complacency, home-returned at last: Work done may claim its wages, the goal gained hath won its prize: While the labour lasted, while the race was running, Many-times the sinews ached, and half refused the struggle: But now, all is quietness, a pleasant hour given to repose; Calmness in the retrospect of good, and calmness in the prospect of a blessing. Hope was glad in the beginning, and fear was sad midway, But sweet fruition cometh in the end, a harvest safe and sure. That which is, can never not have been: facts are solid as the pyramids: A thing done is written in the rock, yea, with a pen of iron. Uncertainty no more can scare, the proof is seen complete, Nor accident render unaccomplished, for the deed is finished. Thus the end shall crown the work, with grace, grace, unto the top-stone, And the work shall triumph in its crown, with peace, peace, unto the builder.