Focused Energy

This one thing I do.—ST. PAUL.

I do this one thing. ST. PAUL.

The one prudence in life is concentration; the one evil is dissipation; and it makes no difference whether our dissipations are coarse or fine.… Everything is good which takes away one plaything and delusion more, and sends us home to add one stroke of faithful work.—EMERSON.

The one wise rule in life is to concentrate. The one evil is to scatter our energies. It makes no difference whether our distractions are crude or refined.… Anything is good if it takes away one more plaything and illusion and sends us home to do one more bit of faithful work. Emerson.

The longer I live, the more deeply am I convinced that that which makes the difference between one man and another—between the weak and powerful, the great and insignificant, is energy—invincible determination—a purpose once formed, and then death or victory.—FOWELL BUXTON.

The longer I live, the more convinced I am that energy makes the difference between one man and another, between the weak and the powerful, the great and the insignificant. It is unstoppable determination. Once a man has a purpose, he pursues it until death or victory. FOWELL BUXTON.

"There was not enough room for us all in Frankfort," said Nathan Mayer Rothschild, in speaking of himself and his four brothers. "I dealt in English goods. One great trader came there, who had the market to himself: he was quite the great man, and did us a favor if he sold us goods. Somehow I offended him, and he refused to show me his patterns. This was on a Tuesday. I said to my father, 'I will go to England.' On Thursday I started. The nearer I got to England, the cheaper goods were. As soon as I got to Manchester, I laid out all my money, things were so cheap, and I made a good profit."

“There was not enough room for all of us in Frankfort,” said Nathan Mayer Rothschild, speaking of himself and his four brothers. “I traded in English goods. One major trader came to Frankfort and had the market to himself. He was a very important man, and acted as if he were doing us a favor by selling us goods. Somehow I offended him, and he refused to show me his samples. This happened on a Tuesday. I said to my father, ‘I will go to England.’ I left on Thursday. The closer I got to England, the cheaper goods became. As soon as I reached Manchester, I spent all my money because things were so cheap, and I made a good profit.”

"I hope," said a listener, "that your children are not too fond of money and business to the exclusion of more important things. I am sure you would not wish that."

"I hope," said a listener, "that your children do not care so much about money and business that they neglect more important things. I am sure you would not want that."

"I am sure I would wish that," said Rothschild; "I wish them to give mind, and soul, and heart, and body, and everything to business; that is the way to be happy." "Stick to one business, young man," he added, addressing a young brewer; "stick to your brewery, and you may be the great brewer of London. But be a brewer, and a banker, and a merchant, and a manufacturer, and you will soon be in the Gazette."

“I’m sure I would want that,” said Rothschild. “I want them to give their minds, souls, hearts, bodies, and everything else to business. That is the way to be happy.” He turned to a young brewer and added, “Stick to one business, young man. Stick to your brewery, and you may become the great brewer of London. But be a brewer, a banker, a merchant, and a manufacturer, and you will soon be listed as bankrupt in the Gazette.”

Not many things indifferently, but one thing supremely, is the demand of the hour. He who scatters his efforts in this intense, concentrated age, cannot hope to succeed.

The need today is not to do many things halfheartedly, but to do one thing exceptionally well. In this intense, focused age, anyone who scatters their efforts cannot hope to succeed.

"Goods removed, messages taken, carpets beaten, and poetry composed on any subject," was the sign of a man in London who was not very successful at any of these lines of work, and reminds one of Monsieur Kenard, of Paris, "a public scribe, who digests accounts, explains the language of flowers, and sells fried potatoes."

"Goods moved, messages delivered, carpets beaten, and poetry written on any subject." That was the sign of a man in London who was not very successful at any of those jobs. He brings to mind Monsieur Kenard of Paris, "a public scribe who sorts out accounts, explains the language of flowers, and sells fried potatoes."

The great difference between those who succeed and those who fail does not consist in the amount of work done by each, but in the amount of intelligent work. Many of those who fail most ignominiously do enough to achieve grand success; but they labor at haphazard, building up with one hand only to tear down with the other. They do not grasp circumstances and change them into opportunities. They have no faculty of turning honest defeats into telling victories. With ability enough, and time in abundance,—the warp and woof of success,—they are forever throwing back and forth an empty shuttle, and the real web of life is never woven.

The great difference between those who succeed and those who fail is not how much they work, but how intelligently they work. Many who fail miserably do enough work to achieve great success. But they work without a plan, building up with one hand only to tear down with the other. They do not seize circumstances and turn them into opportunities. They cannot turn honest defeats into powerful victories. They have enough ability and plenty of time, the threads needed to weave success. Yet they keep moving an empty shuttle back and forth, and the real fabric of life is never woven.

If you ask one of them to state his aim and purpose in life, he will say: "I hardly know yet for what I am best adapted, but I am a thorough believer in genuine hard work, and I am determined to dig early and late all my life, and I know I shall come across something—either gold, silver, or at least iron." I say most emphatically, no. Would an intelligent man dig up a whole continent to find its veins of silver and gold? The man who is forever looking about to see what he can find never finds anything. If we look for nothing in particular, we find just that and no more. We find what we seek with all our heart. The bee is not the only insect that visits the flower, but it is the only one that carries honey away. It matters not how rich the materials we have gleaned from the years of our study and toil in youth, if we go out into life with no well-defined idea of our future work, there is no happy conjunction of circumstances that will arrange them into an imposing structure, and give it magnificent proportions.

If you ask one of them about his aim and purpose in life, he will say: "I hardly know yet what I am best suited for. But I truly believe in hard work, and I am determined to dig early and late all my life. I know I will come across something, either gold, silver, or at least iron." I say most emphatically, no. Would an intelligent man dig up a whole continent to find its veins of silver and gold? A man who is forever looking around to see what he can find never finds anything. If we look for nothing in particular, that is exactly what we find, and no more. We find what we seek with all our heart. The bee is not the only insect that visits a flower, but it is the only one that carries honey away. We may have gathered rich materials through years of study and hard work in our youth. But if we go out into life without a clear idea of our future work, no lucky combination of circumstances will arrange those materials into an impressive structure of magnificent proportions.

"What a immense power over the life," says Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, "is the power of possessing distinct aims. The voice, the dress, the look, the very motions of a person, define and alter when he or she begins to live for a reason. I fancy that I can select, in a crowded street, the busy, blessed women who support themselves. They carry themselves with an air of conscious self-respect and self-content, which a shabby alpaca cannot hide, nor a bonnet of silk enhance, nor even sickness nor exhaustion quite drag out."

"What immense power clear goals have over a person’s life," says Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward. "A person’s voice, dress, expression, and even movements become more distinct and change when they begin to live with a purpose. I think I can pick out the busy, fortunate women who support themselves in a crowded street. They carry themselves with a sense of self-respect and contentment. Shabby clothing cannot hide it, a silk hat cannot enhance it, and even illness or exhaustion cannot quite erase it."

It is said that the wind never blows fair for that sailor who knows not to what port he is bound.

It is said that the wind never blows in the right direction for a sailor who does not know which port he is headed for.

"The weakest living creature," says Carlyle, "by concentrating his powers on a single object, can accomplish something; whereas the strongest, by dispersing his over many, may fail to accomplish anything. The drop, by continually falling, bores its passage through the hardest rock. The hasty torrent rushes over it with hideous uproar and leaves no trace behind."

"The weakest living creature," says Carlyle, "can accomplish something by focusing its powers on a single goal. But the strongest may accomplish nothing by spreading its powers over many goals. A drop of water, falling continuously, bores through the hardest rock. A rushing torrent sweeps over the rock with a terrible roar and leaves no trace behind."

"When I was young I used to think it was thunder that killed men," said a shrewd preacher; "but as I grew older, I found it was lightning. So I resolved to thunder less, and lighten more."

"When I was young, I thought thunder killed people," said a wise preacher. "But as I grew older, I found it was lightning. So I decided to thunder less and strike more like lightning."

The man who knows one thing, and can do it better than anybody else, even if it only be the art of raising turnips, receives the crown he merits. If he raises the best turnips by reason of concentrating all his energy to that end, he is a benefactor to the race, and is recognized as such.

A man who knows one thing and does it better than anyone else earns the recognition he deserves. This is true even if his only skill is growing turnips. If he grows the best turnips by focusing all his energy on that goal, he benefits humanity and is recognized for it.

If a salamander be cut in two, the front part will run forward and the other backward. Such is the progress of him who divides his purpose. Success is jealous of scattered energies.

If a salamander is cut in two, the front half will run forward and the back half backward. That is how a person with a divided purpose progresses. Success is jealous of scattered energies.

No one can pursue a worthy object steadily and persistently with all the powers of his mind, and yet make his life a failure. You can't throw a tallow candle through the side of a tent, but you can shoot it through an oak board. Melt a charge of shot into a bullet, and it can be fired through the bodies of four men. Focus the rays of the sun in winter, and you can kindle a fire with ease.

No one can steadily and persistently pursue a worthy goal with all their mental powers and still fail in life. You can't throw a tallow candle through the side of a tent, but you can shoot it through an oak board. Melt a load of shot into a bullet, and you can fire it through the bodies of four men. Focus the sun's rays in winter, and you can easily start a fire.

The giants of the race have been men of concentration, who have struck sledgehammer blows in one place until they have accomplished their purpose. The successful men of to-day are men of one overmastering idea, one unwavering aim, men of single and intense purpose. "Scatteration" is the curse of American business life. Too many are like Douglas Jerrold's friend, who could converse in twenty-four languages, but had no ideas to express in any one of them.

The giants of the human race have been men of concentration. They have struck sledgehammer blows in one place until they achieved their purpose. Successful men today have one overriding idea and one unwavering aim. They pursue a single purpose with intensity. "Scatteration" is the curse of American business life. Too many are like Douglas Jerrold's friend, who could speak twenty-four languages but had no ideas to express in any of them.

"The only valuable kind of study," said Sydney Smith, "is to read so heartily that dinner-time comes two hours before you expected it; to sit with your Livy before you and hear the geese cackling that saved the Capitol, and to see with your own eyes the Carthaginian sutlers gathering up the rings of the Roman knights after the battle of Cannae, and heaping them into bushels, and to be so intimately present at the actions you are reading of, that when anybody knocks at the door it will take you two or three seconds to determine whether you are in your own study or on the plains of Lombardy, looking at Hannibal's weather-beaten face and admiring the splendor of his single eye."

"The only valuable kind of study," said Sydney Smith, "is to read so eagerly that dinner-time arrives two hours before you expect it. You sit with Livy before you and hear the cackling of the geese that saved the Capitol. You see with your own eyes the Carthaginian army merchants gathering up the rings of the Roman knights after the battle of Cannae. You see them piling the rings into bushels. You feel so present at the events you are reading about that a knock at the door leaves you momentarily unsure where you are. It takes you two or three seconds to decide whether you are in your own study or on the plains of Lombardy, looking at Hannibal's weather-beaten face and admiring the splendor of his single eye."

"The one serviceable, safe, certain, remunerative, attainable quality in every study and pursuit is the quality of attention," said Charles Dickens. "My own invention, or imagination, such as it is, I can most truthfully assure you, would never have served me as it has, but for the habit of commonplace, humble, patient, daily, toiling, drudging attention." When asked on another occasion the secret of his success, he said: "I never put one hand to anything on which I could throw my whole self." "Be a whole man at everything," wrote Joseph Gurney to his son, "a whole man at study, in work, and in play."

“Attention is the one useful, reliable, certain, rewarding, and attainable quality in every study and pursuit,” said Charles Dickens. “I can honestly assure you that my imagination, such as it is, would never have served me as well without a habit of ordinary, humble, patient, daily, hard-working attention.” On another occasion, he was asked the secret of his success. He said: “I never put just one hand to anything when I could give it my whole self.” “Be a whole man in everything,” Joseph Gurney wrote to his son, “a whole man in study, work, and play.”

Don't dally with your purpose.

Don't waste time pursuing your purpose.

"I go at what I am about," said Charles Kingsley, "as if there was nothing else in the world for the time being. That's the secret of all hard-working men; but most of them can't carry it into their amusements."

"I approach whatever I'm doing," said Charles Kingsley, "as if nothing else in the world matters at that moment. That's the secret of all hard-working men. But most of them can't bring that same focus to their leisure."

Many a man fails to become a great man by splitting into several small ones, choosing to be a tolerable Jack-of-all-trades rather than to be an unrivaled specialist.

Many men fail to become great because they divide themselves into several smaller men. They choose to be adequate at many trades rather than unmatched in one specialty.

"Many persons seeing me so much engaged in active life," said Edward Bulwer Lytton, "and as much about the world as if I had never been a student, have said to me, 'When do you get time to write all your books? How on earth do you contrive to do so much work?' I shall surprise you by the answer I made. The answer is this—'I contrive to do so much by never doing too much at a time. A man to get through work well must not overwork himself; or, if he do too much to-day, the reaction of fatigue will come, and he will be obliged to do too little to-morrow. Now, since I began really and earnestly to study, which was not till I had left college and was actually in the world, I may perhaps say that I have gone through as large a course of general reading as most men of my time. I have traveled much and I have seen much; I have mixed much in politics, and in the various business of life; and in addition to all this, I have published somewhere about sixty volumes, some upon subjects requiring much special research. And what time do you think, as a general rule, I have devoted to study, to reading and writing? Not more than three hours a day; and, when Parliament is sitting, not always that. But then, during these three hours, I have given my whole attention to what I was about.'"

"Many people see how active I am," said Edward Bulwer Lytton. "They see me out in the world as much as if I had never been a student. They have asked me, 'When do you find time to write all your books? How on earth do you manage to do so much work?' My answer will surprise you. I tell them, 'I manage to do so much by never doing too much at once. To work well, a man must not overwork himself. If he does too much today, fatigue will catch up with him, and he will have to do too little tomorrow. I did not begin to study seriously until I had left college and entered the world. Since then, I may perhaps say that I have read as widely as most men of my time. I have traveled and seen much. I have been deeply involved in politics and the various affairs of life. Besides all this, I have published about sixty volumes. Some of them required a great deal of specialized research. How much time do you think I have generally devoted to studying, reading, and writing? No more than three hours a day. When Parliament is in session, I have not always managed even that. But during those three hours, I have given my full attention to what I was doing.'"

S. T. Coleridge possessed marvelous powers of mind, but he had no definite purpose; he lived in an atmosphere of mental dissipation which consumed his energy, exhausted his stamina, and his life was in many respects a miserable failure. He lived in dreams and died in reverie. He was continually forming plans and resolutions, but to the day of his death they remained simply resolutions and plans.

S. T. Coleridge had marvelous mental abilities, but he had no clear purpose. He lived in a state of mental distraction that drained his energy and exhausted his stamina. In many respects, his life was a miserable failure. He lived in dreams and died lost in thought. He constantly made plans and resolutions, but they remained only plans and resolutions until the day he died.

He was always just going to do something, but never did it. "Coleridge is dead," wrote Charles Lamb to a friend, "and is said to have left behind him above forty thousand treatises on metaphysics and divinity—not one of them complete!"

He was always about to do something, but never did it. "Coleridge is dead," Charles Lamb wrote to a friend. "He is said to have left behind more than forty thousand treatises on metaphysics and theology, not one of them complete!"

Every great man has become great, every successful man has succeeded, in proportion as he has confined his powers to one particular channel.

Every great man has become great, and every successful man has succeeded, to the extent that he has focused his abilities on one thing.

Hogarth would rivet his attention upon a face and study it until it was photographed upon his memory, when he could reproduce it at will. He studied and examined each object as eagerly as though he would never have a chance to see it again, and this habit of close observation enabled him to develop his work with marvelous detail. The very modes of thought of the time in which he lived were reflected from his works. He was not a man of great education or culture, except in his power of observation.

Hogarth would focus on a face and study it until it was fixed in his memory like a photograph. Then he could reproduce it whenever he wanted. He studied every object eagerly, as if he would never have another chance to see it. This habit of close observation enabled him to develop his work in marvelous detail. His works reflected even the ways people thought in his time. He was not a man of great education or culture, except in his power of observation.

With an immense procession passing up Broadway, the streets lined with people, and bands playing lustily, Horace Greeley would sit upon the steps of the Astor House, use the top of his hat for a desk, and write an editorial for the "New York Tribune" which would be quoted far and wide.

A huge procession was moving up Broadway, with people lining the streets and bands playing loudly. Horace Greeley would sit on the steps of the Astor House, using the top of his hat as a desk. There he would write an editorial for the "New York Tribune" that would be quoted far and wide.

Offended by a pungent article, a gentleman called at the "Tribune" office and inquired for the editor. He was shown into a little seven-by-nine sanctum, where Greeley, with his head close down to his paper, sat scribbling away at a two-forty rate. The angry man began by asking if this was Mr. Greeley. "Yes, sir; what do you want?" said the editor quickly, without once looking up from his paper. The irate visitor then began using his tongue, with no regard for the rules of propriety, good breeding, or reason. Meantime Mr. Greeley continued to write. Page after page was dashed off in the most impetuous style, with no change of features and without his paying the slightest attention to the visitor. Finally, after about twenty minutes of the most impassioned abuse ever poured out in an editor's office, the angry man became disgusted, and abruptly turned to walk out of the room. Then, for the first time, Mr. Greeley quickly looked up, rose from his chair, and slapping the gentleman familiarly on his shoulder, in a pleasant tone of voice said: "Don't go, friend; sit down, sit down, and free your mind; it will do you good,—you will feel better for it. Besides, it helps me to think what I am to write about. Don't go."

Offended by a sharp article, a gentleman went to the "Tribune" office and asked for the editor. He was shown into a tiny office, where Greeley sat bent over his paper, writing at top speed. The angry man began by asking if he was Mr. Greeley. "Yes, sir. What do you want?" the editor said quickly, without looking up from his paper. The furious visitor then began speaking with no regard for decency, good manners, or reason. Meanwhile, Mr. Greeley kept writing. He dashed off page after page, his expression unchanged, without paying the visitor the slightest attention. Finally, after about twenty minutes of the most passionate abuse ever heard in an editor's office, the angry man gave up in disgust. He turned abruptly to leave the room. Then, for the first time, Mr. Greeley looked up quickly and rose from his chair. He gave the gentleman a friendly slap on the shoulder and said pleasantly, "Don't go, friend. Sit down, sit down, and speak your mind. It will do you good. You'll feel better for it. Besides, it helps me think about what I'm going to write. Don't go."

One unwavering aim has ever characterized successful men.

Successful men have always had one steady aim.

"Daniel Webster," said Sydney Smith, "struck me much like a steam-engine in trousers."

"Daniel Webster," said Sydney Smith, "seemed to me like a steam engine in trousers."

As Adams suggests, Lord Brougham, like Canning, had too many talents; and, though as a lawyer he gained the most splendid prize of his profession, the Lord Chancellorship of England, and merited the applause of scientific men for his investigations in science, yet his life on the whole was a failure. He was "everything by turns and nothing long." With all his magnificent abilities he left no permanent mark on history or literature, and actually outlived his own fame.

As Adams suggests, Lord Brougham, like Canning, had too many talents. As a lawyer, he won his profession’s greatest prize, the Lord Chancellorship of England. His scientific research also deserved the praise it earned from scientists. Yet, on the whole, his life was a failure. He was "everything by turns and nothing long." Despite all his magnificent abilities, he left no lasting mark on history or literature. He actually outlived his own fame.

Miss Martineau says, "Lord Brougham was at his chateau at Cannes when the daguerreotype process first came into vogue. An artist undertook to take a view of the chateau with a group of guests on the balcony. His Lordship was, asked to keep perfectly still for five seconds, and he promised that he would not stir, but alas,—he moved. The consequence was that there was a blur where Lord Brougham should have been.

Miss Martineau says, "Lord Brougham was at his chateau in Cannes when the daguerreotype process first became popular. An artist set out to capture a view of the chateau, with a group of guests on the balcony. Lord Brougham was asked to keep perfectly still for five seconds, and he promised not to move. But alas, he moved. As a result, there was a blur where Lord Brougham should have been.

"There is something," continued Miss Martineau, "very typical in this. In the picture of our century, as taken from the life by history, this very man should have been the central figure. But, owing to his want of steadfastness, there will be forever a blur where Lord Brougham should have been. How many lives are blurs for want of concentration and steadfastness of purpose!"

“There is something very typical about this,” continued Miss Martineau. “In history’s true-to-life portrait of our century, this very man should have been the central figure. But because he lacked steadfastness, there will forever be a blur where Lord Brougham should have been. How many lives are blurs for lack of concentration and steadfast purpose!”

Fowell Buxton attributed his success to ordinary means and extraordinary application, and being a whole man to one thing at a time. It is ever the unwavering pursuit of a single aim that wins. "Non multa, sed multum"—not many things, but much, was Coke's motto.

Fowell Buxton credited his success to ordinary methods, extraordinary effort, and giving himself fully to one task at a time. Steady pursuit of a single goal always wins. Coke's motto was "Non multa, sed multum": not many things, but much.

It is the almost invisible point of a needle, the keen, slender edge of a razor or an ax, that opens the way for the bulk that follows. Without point or edge the bulk would be useless. It is the man of one line of work, the sharp-edged man, who cuts his way through obstacles and achieves brilliant success. While we should shun that narrow devotion to one idea which prevents the harmonious development of our powers, we should avoid on the other hand the extreme versatility of one of whom W. M. Praed says:—

The almost invisible point of a needle opens the way for the bulk that follows. So does the sharp, slender edge of a razor or an ax. Without a point or an edge, the bulk would be useless. A man who focuses on one line of work is like a sharp edge. He cuts his way through obstacles and achieves brilliant success. We should avoid a narrow devotion to one idea that prevents our abilities from developing in harmony. But we should also avoid the extreme versatility of a person described by W. M. Praed:

If you can get a child learning to walk to fix his eyes on any object, he will generally navigate to that point without capsizing, but distract his attention and down he goes.

If you can get a child learning to walk to focus on an object, he will usually reach it without falling. But distract him, and down he goes.

The young man seeking a position to-day is not asked what college he came from or who his ancestors were. "What can you do?" is the great question. It is special training that is wanted. Most of the men at the head of great firms and great enterprises have been promoted step by step from the bottom.

A young man looking for a job today is not asked what college he attended or who his ancestors were. "What can you do?" is the main question. Employers want specialized training. Most men who lead major firms and enterprises worked their way up from the bottom, one step at a time.

"I know that he can toil terribly," said Cecil of Walter Raleigh, in explanation of the latter's success.

“I know that he can work tremendously hard,” Cecil said, explaining Walter Raleigh’s success.

As a rule, what the heart longs for the head and the hands may attain. The currents of knowledge, of wealth, of success, are as certain and fixed as the tides of the sea. In all great successes we can trace the power of concentration, riveting every faculty upon one unwavering aim; perseverance in the pursuit of an undertaking in spite of every difficulty; and courage which enables one to bear up under all trials, disappointments, and temptations.

As a rule, what the heart longs for, the mind and hands may achieve. The currents of knowledge, wealth, and success are as certain and steady as the tides of the sea. In all great successes, we can see the power of concentration, focusing every ability on one steady goal. We can also see perseverance in pursuing a goal despite every difficulty. And we can see courage that helps a person endure all trials, disappointments, and temptations.

Chemists tell us that there is power enough in a single acre of grass to drive all the mills and steam-cars in the world, could we but concentrate it upon the piston-rod of a steam-engine. But it is at rest, and so, in the light of science, it is comparatively valueless.

Chemists tell us that a single acre of grass holds enough power to run all the world's mills and steam trains. It could do so if we could concentrate that power on the piston rod of a steam engine. But the power is inactive, so science tells us it is comparatively worthless.

Dr. Mathews says that the man who scatters himself upon many objects soon loses his energy, and with his energy his enthusiasm.

Dr. Mathews says that a man who spreads himself across too many pursuits soon loses his energy. With it, he loses his enthusiasm.

"Never study on speculation," says Waters; "all such study is vain. Form a plan; have an object; then work for it, learn all you can about it, and you will be sure to succeed. What I mean by studying on speculation is that aimless learning of things because they may be useful some day; which is like the conduct of the woman who bought at auction a brass door-plate with the name of Thompson on it, thinking it might be useful some day!"

"Never study without a purpose," says Waters. "All such study is pointless. Make a plan and set a goal. Then work toward it and learn all you can about it. You will be sure to succeed. By studying without a purpose, I mean learning things aimlessly because they may be useful someday. That is like the woman who bought a brass door plate at an auction with the name Thompson on it. She thought it might be useful someday!"

Definiteness of aim is characteristic of all true art. He is not the greatest painter who crowds the greatest number of ideas upon a single canvas, giving all the figures equal prominence. He is the genuine artist who makes the greatest variety express the greatest unity, who develops the leading idea in the central figure, and makes all the subordinate figures, lights, and shades point to that center and find expression there. So in every well-balanced life, no matter how versatile in endowments or how broad in culture, there is one grand central purpose, in which all the subordinate powers of the soul are brought to a focus, and where they will find fit expression. In nature we see no waste of energy, nothing left to chance. Since the shuttle of creation shot for the first time through chaos, design has marked the course of every golden thread. Every leaf, every flower, every crystal, every atom even, has a purpose stamped upon it which unmistakably points to the crowning summit of all creation—man.

A clear aim is a mark of all true art. The greatest painter is not the one who crowds the most ideas onto a single canvas, giving every figure equal prominence. The true artist makes the greatest variety express the greatest unity. The artist develops the main idea in the central figure. All the lesser figures, lights, and shadows point to that center and find expression there. So too, every well-balanced life has one great central purpose, no matter how varied its gifts or broad its culture. All the lesser powers of the soul are focused on that purpose and find fitting expression there. In nature we see no wasted energy and nothing left to chance. Ever since the shuttle of creation first passed through chaos, design has guided the course of every golden thread. Every leaf, flower, crystal, and even atom bears the mark of a purpose. That purpose unmistakably points to the crowning summit of all creation: man.

Young men are often told to aim high, but we must aim at what we would hit. A general purpose is not enough. The arrow shot from the bow does not wander around to see what it can hit on its way, but flies straight to the mark. The magnetic needle does not point to all the lights in the heavens to see which it likes best. They all attract it. The sun dazzles, the meteor beckons, the stars twinkle to it, and try to win its affections; but the needle, true to its instinct, and with a finger that never errs in sunshine or in storm, points steadily to the North Star; for, while all the other stars must course with untiring tread around their great centers through all the ages, the North Star, alone, distant beyond human comprehension, moves with stately sweep on its circuit of more than 25,000 years, for all practical purposes of man stationary, not only for a day, but for a century. So all along the path of life other luminaries will beckon to lead us from our cherished aim—from the course of truth and duty; but let no moons which shine with borrowed light, no meteors which dazzle, but never guide, turn the needle of our purpose from the North Star of its hope.

Young men are often told to aim high, but we must aim at what we want to hit. A general purpose is not enough. An arrow shot from a bow does not wander around looking for something to hit. It flies straight to its target. A magnetic needle does not point to every light in the sky to see which one it likes best. All those lights attract it. The sun dazzles, the meteor beckons, and the stars twinkle, all trying to win its affection. But the needle stays true to its instinct. Like a finger that never points the wrong way, in sunshine or storm, it points steadily to the North Star. All the other stars must travel endlessly around their great centers through all the ages. The North Star alone, at a distance beyond human understanding, moves majestically along a circuit that takes more than 25,000 years. For all human purposes, it is stationary, not just for a day, but for a century. In the same way, other lights will beckon along life’s path. They will try to draw us away from our cherished aim, from the path of truth and duty. But let no moons shining with borrowed light, and no meteors that dazzle but never guide, turn the needle of our purpose from the North Star of its hope.