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MOVING ON
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down round me for a time, but it is for ever “Move on, please,” till we make the final move without return tickets. Anyway, one has not been “a ship that passeth in the night,” and gave no one greeting on the way, and that is something. Little memories linger; a little gladness here, a little sympathy there, a helpful word that cheers and encourages, that lightens the stony way—all has been gain. We know what has been in the past, can think of it, dream of it, laugh over it, and maybe weep over it—but the future
Where are you going, little ship; little ship, oh, where are you going?