The Argosy — page 201: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LIFE’S TRAVELLERS. OH, Life’s swift travellers, how they hurry on, Hurry madly on ! Some with joy and merriment, mingling songs and jests ; Some with aching hearts throbbing on in tired breasts ; ome with muttered curses, some with blank despair ; Some with resignation, murmuring a prayer— Life’s swift travellers, how they hurry on ! Toil they ever, taking rarely rest, Taking rarely rest ! Through the fresh early morn, and the noon’s sultry heat, Through the dead waste of night, on vision’s wingéd feet ; Through Youth’s tropic summer and Age’s polar snow, O’er the hill-tops of Joy, down in the depths of Woe, Toil they ever, taking rarely rest ! What do they seek, these people? What their end ? Whither lies the end ? How will it be when their journey’s toil is done ? Will they rest evermore? Will peaceful rest be won ? In that reward, so blest, will they forget The pain of the past race—its toil, its fret ? What do they seek, these people ?—what The end of all is at a dark, low Gate, A dark, low, narrow Gate ! Through its mysterious portals, with faces strange and white, The winners in the race vanish from mortal sight ; Pleadings go after them—no answer cometh back ; the jostling travellers o’er the beaten track, to pierce the mystery of the Gate. Beyond (says Faith) there lies the Heavenly Rest ! The blissful, Heavenly Rest ! There the weary souls of pilgrims are eased of their pain ; There sufferers by worldly loss count their eternal gain ; There they who with true courage the Race of Life have run, Hear the Lord’s angels chorusing, “ Well done ! Well done Enter into the Heavenly Rest, oh, faithful one !” EOMRniilElooe _ (GO)