But we have all our softer moments.
A prisoner is being driven to the scaffold in a cart. A nail in the seat
irks him; he shifts aside a little, and feels more at ease.
A Captain should not pray that God may forgive him--as he forgives his
God. It is simply theatrical. A wanderer who cannot reckon every day on
food and drink, clothes and boots, and house and home, feels just the
right degree of privation when all these luxuries are lacking. If you
cannot manage one way, why, there will be another. But if the other way
should also fail, then one does not forgive one's God, but takes up the
responsibility oneself. Shoulder against what comes--that is, bow to it.
A trifle hard for flesh and blood, and it greys a man's hair sadly. But a
wanderer thanks God for life; it was good to live!
I might put it that way.
For why these high demands on life? What have we earned? All the boxes of
sweetmeats a sweet-tooth could wish for? Well and good. But have we not
had the world to look upon each day, and the soughing of the woods to
hear? There is nothing so grand in all the world as that voice of the
woods.
Pages:
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484