resistless might of waters to the shore, filling the heavens day and night with the echoes of its sublime declaration of independence, and tossing and sporting on its bed with an imperial consciousness of strength that laughs at opposition.  It is this depth and weight and power and purity of character that I would have you resemble; and I would have you, like the waters of the ocean, to become the purer by your own action.  Men are sometimes ruined because they aim not at virtue, but only at the reputation which it brings.  Odd-Fellowship teaches its members to be brave, honest and diligent.  If we have these attributes, victory must surely crown our efforts.  How often in the history of our country have men of humble birth come forth in time of danger, and, nobly risking all, even to death, or disgrace worse than death itself, stood between their country and defeat, and built for themselves a glorious name.  Nor, alas! is the opposite case to this unknown.  Some of America’s proudest sons have, by their own acts, sunk themselves into the inner-most depths of infamy and vice.

  “Virtue alone is true nobility. 
  Oh, give me inborn worth! dare to be just,
  Firm to your word and faithful to your trust.”

Knowledge is a mighty rock in a weary land, and to you, brothers, ’tis permitted to smite this rock, and from it gushes fountains of living waters, which form rivers of wisdom, flowing to the uttermost parts of the earth, carrying the proper idea of life to the souls of men.  The river of science flows in a deep, straight course, searching out the hidden mysteries, and demonstrating facts, while Truth builds her defenses on its shores, and Love rears her fair palaces and calmly enjoys the result of labor and research.  History, with its broad stream bringing knowledge down through the vanished centuries, revealing many a lost art, which avails us much in these later days.  Mysteries which magicians have left behind them—­secrets for ages undusted—­that we may read the records of the past.

Experience builds citadels upon these heights.  Flowing parallel to history is the great, turbid stream of politics.  Its crimson billows cast wrecks upon the strand, and the moaning waves strangely blend the tones of grand martial music with the discords of despair and disappointment, for it is a treacherous tide.  Along its winding shores war builds her forts, and there are fields of carnage and blood, and dark fortresses of envy, from which fly the poisoned shafts of malice, falsehood and revenge, and there are many graves in which lie ambition, glory and renown, with all their brilliant dreams.  Opposite to this from the rock of knowledge gush the sweet fountains of poetry and music, singing on their way through fair, secluded dells, where there are moss-covered rocks, clinging vines, fragrant flowers and ferns and singing birds.  In their shining waves of light are mirrored the azure sky, golden sunshine and fleecy clouds, while youth, beauty, laughter and joy stray along the verdant shores, keeping time to the music of the merry spray and weaving garlands to crown their radiant brows.