Your days are short here; this is the last of your springs. And

Hear the words of Adlai Stevenson II, spoken to graduates at Princeton in the spring of 1954: “Your days are short here; this is the last of your springs. And now in the serenity and quiet of this lovely place, touch the depths of truth, feel the hem of Heaven. You will go away with old, good friends. And don't forget when you leave why you came.” In these words lies both tenderness and thunder, both farewell and command. For Stevenson was speaking not only to students, but to all who stand upon the threshold of life’s next chapter. He reminds us that time is fleeting, that youth’s spring passes swiftly, and that the years granted to us are few. Yet in those short days lies the chance to reach for eternity.

The first note he strikes is the brevity of life: “Your days are short here; this is the last of your springs.” The ancients too warned of this truth. The poets of Greece and Rome spoke of the swift flight of time, urging men to “seize the day” before it vanished. Stevenson calls his hearers to awaken from slumber, to recognize that their days in places of learning and growth are few, and that beyond them lies the long road of responsibility. To ignore the brevity of time is to waste it; to embrace it is to live fully.

But his words are not heavy with despair; they are lifted by hope. He counsels them to use this fleeting moment to “touch the depths of truth, feel the hem of Heaven.” What noble imagery! He speaks of truth not as a concept to be memorized, but as a depth to be felt, as something to plunge into with the whole soul. And Heaven itself, though beyond reach, has its hem within our grasp—the edge of the eternal brushes against the mortal, and the wise will reach out to touch it. To live well is not merely to work or to succeed, but to encounter what is timeless, what is holy, what is true.

He then speaks of friends, reminding them that life’s journey is not walked alone. “You will go away with old, good friends.” In this he echoes the ancients who placed friendship among the highest of virtues. For friends are not only companions of laughter, but mirrors of truth and anchors in storm. The memories forged in the springs of youth, the friendships born in the crucible of study and struggle, will endure longer than wealth or fame. To leave with friends is to leave rich indeed.

Finally, Stevenson gives his most urgent counsel: “Don’t forget when you leave why you came.” It is easy in the noise of life, in the temptations of ambition and the burdens of duty, to forget the original calling, the pure intention that began the journey. Many set out with fire in their hearts, yet along the way, they forget the flame. Stevenson warns them to hold fast to their purpose, to remember the reason for their striving, to live in fidelity to the truth they once sought in their youth.

We see the wisdom of this in the lives of many. Consider Nelson Mandela, who as a young man set out to free his people from the chains of apartheid. Through decades of prison, humiliation, and trial, he never forgot why he began. When he emerged, scarred yet unbroken, he was still faithful to his cause, and his steadfastness changed a nation. Mandela’s life proves Stevenson’s warning true: only those who remember why they came can endure the long darkness and emerge victorious.

So, my child, the lesson is this: your days are short, but they can touch eternity if you live them with purpose. Seek truth as though it were water in a desert; stretch out your hand toward Heaven, even if you touch only its hem; cherish your friends as treasures; and above all, do not forget why you began the path you walk. For those who remember their first flame will never lose their light, and even when their spring has passed, they will carry eternity within them. Live with truth, live with purpose, live with remembrance—and your short days will shine forever.