BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

In the headlong rush for the Land of Fame
How many are wrecked on the Isle of Shame.
How few heads wear a glittering crown
In the far-away realm of great renown.
'Mid the crowded ranks of the legion of greed
How many are crushed 'neath the wheels of need!

How few ever feel the dainty caress
Of the lingering hand of great success!
In the mad pursuit of the god of gold
What brains are wrecked, what hearts grow cold!
How many will spend their latest day
'Mid the hurtling waters of Poverty Bay!

How many are lured by a siren chime
To a double death in the land of Crime!
How few escape, unscarred, within
The winding walks of the maze of sin!
How many that towered above the stars
Now pine and languish behind the bars!

What a trail of woe a single mistake
Across the page of a life can make!
O, shipwrecked sailor, fix your eye
On the Star of Hope in yonder sky;
Mercy's hand will bring release
And safely lead to the Land of Peace.