Streams Of Life
I hope you don't
come to this spot and just find another cache. I hope you do find
something else along with it. Caching is not just about the numbers
its about the adventure of getting to the spot where the cache is.
Does it matter that there is something in the cache? Does it matter
if you sign you name or not? Does it matter if there is a deer or a
bear here? Does it matter if someone is with you? Does it matter if
it is night or day?
If you make the game
to be about the numbers or about any one thing good luck to you
because it will become work and who wants to work to find a
CACHE?
The same stream of life that runs through my
veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic
measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the
earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous
waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of
life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my
blood this moment.
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| 694. The
Stream of Life |
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| Arthur Hugh
Clough (1819–1861) |
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| O STREAM descending to the sea, |
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| Thy mossy banks between, |
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| The flowerets blow, the grasses grow, |
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| The leafy trees are green. |
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| In garden plots the children play, |
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| The fields the labourers till, |
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| And houses stand on either hand, |
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| And thou descendest still. |
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| O life descending into death, |
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| Our walking eyes behold, |
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| Parent and friend thy lapse attend, |
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| Companions young and old. |
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| Strong purposes our minds possess, |
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| Our hearts affections fill, |
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| We toil and earn, we seek and learn, |
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| And thou descendest still. |
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| O end to which our currents tend, |
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| Inevitable sea, |
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| To which we flow, what do we know, |
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| What shall we guess of thee? |
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| A roar we hear upon thy shore, |
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| As we our course fulfil; |
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| Scarce we divine a sun will shine |
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| And be above us still. |
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