For Wheel or Whoa.

In life we are all rolling stock running on the rails of Destiny, and if we fail to stop when flagged by Fate we miss our freight. On Life's railroad there is only one set of rails and no turntable. But why turn back; the scene improves as we travel onward; or we appreciate it better; that is, those who keep their eyes to the window. But there are some who would rather sleep than peep, and some who are so occupied with their ingrown eyebrows, their over-investments and under-devestments, the price of lead-headed eye-teeth, and the fate of the fat, that they are blind to the beauty of Being. Life should be like a train—–eager, pressing forward as if bent on keeping a tryst with Time round the next bend; taking the grades sturdily, and running to Time. A train epitomizes human existence; with its black mane trailing over its shoulder it converts the Present into the Past. Every second is a chip of the Future to be caught and whirled beneath the bogies into History. Forward to the next bend, onward to the next bridge; chasing the sun, pursuing the beckoning hand of unachieved achievement, leaping to new experiences and defying the light of Hope to sink beneath the horizon of Despair. Sounding a warning at the crossings, braving the gloom of the tunnels, bowling along, trolling a song, beating the rails of Life.

We are all trains—trains with beating brains; pulsing living motived men, oft’ pausing to pant with the signal against us; stopping to pick up new ideas and set down old; halting to fill up at the tank of

The Home Signal Against Him

Experience; but ever moving—moving on to a terminus which evades us. Our ticket is an open pass to the beyond beyond beyond. The train is crowded, but there is always room for more. Move up and make a place, and share the bag of peanuts. Crack a jest, get the old lady a cup of tea, hold the tired dame's baby, open the window for the large lady who craves oxygen, laugh with the crowd and sing in the chorus, and be all things to all men.

A train is life in little, existence on distance, a fleeting thought, and a forward move.