How well can we remember, looking back o'er many years,

Memories of happy moments, and of others dimm'd by tears

Of the friendships we had form'd, and the faces we have seen,

Of the loved ones that have left us, and the dear ones that have been,

Of the times when we were children-little pawns on life's chess board,

Easy crushed by trifling troubles, happy made by small reward,

Fighting hard our mimic battles, eager in pursuit of gain,

Dreading checks to our ambition, seeking pleasure oft in vain,

Onward, or right or left we strode, with careful, anxious tread,

Our eyes fixed on the distant goal, but dimly seen ahead.

While swarms of keen opponents with threats dispute our way,

And danger lies in every move we make from day to day.

2.

And so from year to year we go, as from each square to square,

Seeking our way 'twixt hope and fear, hardly each step to dare,

Teeming our brain with deep-laid schemes or many a brilliant thought,

As e'en for sword or mitre or perchance a crown we fought;

Building castles in the air, which, alas! we often found

To be set on shifting sand, and soon tumbled to the ground.

Creating mystic problems for transmuting into gold

Our poor ideal treasures, like philosophers of old;

And learning by experience that many an eye and claw

Were sharply watching to pick out the very slightest flaw,

And thus the strong position, full to us of wealth and fame,

Would bring naught but bitter ashes and an agony of shame.

3.

And thus life's struggle strengthens, as in our search for fate

We seek to foil antagonists, and to avoid checkmate.

Though strange in our consistency, for seemingly indeed

sphere,

The pawns or pieces, after other, surely disappear,

And mattering very little now, whichever may portend,

Defeat or triumph in the fight, 'tis nearly at an end;

Feebly our fingers grasp to move each actor in the field;

Faintly our efforts are put forth our waning cause to shield.

Sooner or later there must come a move and that the last,

The after which there's no recall or bringing back the past.

The die is cast, the doom is sealed, and be it weal or woe,

Our hopes, ambitions, fears and cares are sunken in the flow

Of by-gone streams of time, which ne'er again on earth we'll see

Lost ever in the murky mist of past eternity.

5.

The last of all our problems! With what grave and eager care

Each line was slowly studied as each part was made to share

The burden of the structure, which in our thoughtless pride

We fondly hoped, built on a rock, forever would abide.

The last of all our problems! We slowly close our eyes,

While from our vision it recedes, then fades away and dies.

Its errors or its beauties, to be judged by other

men.

For us they are no more; they are gone beyond our ken.

The last of all our problems! And must we bid farewell

To the mysterious Caissa, upon which we loved to dwell?

A still voice whispers gently "Yes! your labors here are o'er,

To higher realms now ascend, and rest for

evermore

6.

Life's problem is perfected, and the solution

sure.

A master mind has solved it, and we must all endure

His analysis so searching, His judgement so complete,

Tempered by love and mercy from forth His regal seat.

Then let us as we slowly move around the board of life

Deal gently with the foes we meet, who fain would bring us strife.

Fight bravely in the holy cause of justice, truth and right,

And seek the noblest efforts on which to spend our might,

So that our every word and deed, as beauteous blooming flowers

Send up their precious perfume after refreshing showers,

May live enshrined in tenderness, so long as time shall last,

Or that great problem man has still a memory of the past. JOHN GARDNER.

Boston, Mass., March 4, 1881.