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THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS.
Oh, a moon face in a shadowy place.
And a light touch and a winsome grace,
And a thrilling tender voice which says:
"Safe from waters that seek the sea-
Cold waters by rugged ways—
  Safe with me."

While overhead bird whistles to bird,
And round about plays a gamesome herd
"Safe with us"—some take up the word—
"Safe with us, dear lord and friend:
All the sweeter if long deferred
  Is rest in the end."

Had he stayed to weigh and to scan,
He had been more or less than a man:
He did what a young man can,
Spoke of toil and an arduous way—
Toil to-morrow, while golden ran
  The sands of to-day.

Slip past, slip fast,
Uncounted hours from first to last,
Many hours till the last is past,
Many hours dwindling to one—
One hour whose die is cast,
  One last hour gone.

Come, gone—gone for ever—
Gone as an unreturning river—
Gone as to death the merriest liver—