canoes of the old unknown time, the stately river
has seen them all come and go, and yet holds its
way past forest and promontory, still beautiful and un
changing. Generation after generation, daring hunter,
ardent discoverer, silent Indian, all the shadowy
peoples of the past have sailed its waters as we sail
them, have lived perplexed and haunted by mystery
as we live, have gone out into the Great Darkness
with hearts full of wistful doubt and questioning, as we
go; and still the river holds its course, bright, beauti
ful, inscrutable. It stays; we go. Is there anything
beyond the darkness into which generation follows
generation and race follows race? Surely there is an
after-life, where light and peace shall come to all
who, however defeated, have tried to be true and
loyal; where the burden shall be lifted and the heart
ache shall cease; where all the love and hope that
slipped away from us here shall be given back to
us again, and given back forever.
Via crucis, via lucis.
THE END.
