What is the use of this impetuous haste ?
    The end certain. Let us take our time
And hoard the vital forces that we waste
    Before out day has reached its golden prime.

What is the use of rushing with spent breath
    After old age--Its furrows, its white hair ?
Why need we hurry so to welcome death,
    Or go half way, with hands stretched out, to care ?

There is no use. Dear hearts, if we but wait
    All things will find us. Let us pause, I say;
We cannot go beyond the silent gate
    That lies a short day's journey down the way.

So Let us take our time in youth's fair bowers :
    The summer season is not so brief at best ;
Let us look on the stars and pluck the flowers
    And when our feet grow weary let us rest.

                                               --Ella Wheeler

The Observer and Gazette [Fayetteville, NC] 4 Feb. 1886: 1.

Courtesy of John M. Freiermuth.

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