Future Possibilities.

(from BlueFishTV.com)

The field of mental effort is not measurable, and so far as we know, is unlimited. To fix its bounds would be to set an arbitrary limit to the progress of the human race. In science, art, literature--in all that exalts and embellishes life--the space yet available for progress comes as near infinitude as anything we are capable of conceiving. To one who stands in a valley, the horizon is near; let him climb a hill, and his view is expanded. When he attains a greater height the prospect appears still wider. The inventive genius of the world is rising higher and higher every day. Its prospect never appeared so utterly boundless as now. All that has been achieved, all the grand conquests that are recorded, are but an atom in the balance weighed when brought against the possibilities of the future. -- The Inventive Age

Future Life.

(Visit Holt International)

      I trace the river, swelling out by degrees from the spring to a rill, from the rill to a brook, from the brook to a mill-stream, from the stream to a river, taking itself all minor tribulations, and rolling on with a current that bears the ship and the steamboat with the easiest majesty, still cleaving its way through meadow and hill, through forest and mountain, untroubled toward the sea. Shall I believe, then, that when that river has rounded a promontory, beyond which, as yet, I can not follow it, it is all at once dissolved into mist? or emptied into a cavern so deep and obscure that no trace of the stream reappears on earth? Nay, but I know--tho I have not seen the end, it is certain to me as if already my vision embraced it-- that that river flows on continuous to the ocean, and mingles its wave with all the waters that gird the globe, and are drawn into the skies!

      And so I know that the great soul of man, aspiring from it's birth to a nobler development, still matching its companions, still surpassing its circumstances, with ideas within it which no present can unfold, and with a deep self-centered force, to which the body is (only thought to be) an accident, will  still go on when this body has decayed, and be only nobler and princelier in each power when mingling with that illustrious concourse of intelligent and pure beings who already have been gathered in the courts of the future! It were to reverse and violently over-ride every palpable probability, to deny or to doubt this! (Text.) -- Richard S. Storrs.

God's Small Tokens.

("Take care of your mother, my child.")

These words found in the Church Advocate are by Adelaide A. Proctor:

Do not look at life's long sorrow;

 See how small each moment's pain;

God will help thee for to-morrow,

 So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly

 Has its task to do or bear;

Luminous the crown and holy,

 When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,

 Or for passing hours despond;

Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,

 Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,

 Reaching heaven; but, one by one,

Take them, lest the chain be broken

 Ere the pilgrimage be done.

"Tiny Toes," in both pink and blue