Why ever make man's good distinct from Or finding they are one, why dare mistrust? September Twenty-first. M As An end, a rest! Strange how the notion, L once Encountered, gathers strength by moments! G Rest! T Where has it kept so long? This throbbing brow To cease, this beating heart to cease, all cruel And gnawing thoughts to cease! To dare let down My strength, so high-strung brain, to dare unnerve My harassed o'er-tasked frame, to know my place, My portion, my reward, even my failure, September Twenty-second. Let our God's praise Go bravely through the world at last! What care Through me or thee? September Twenty-third. Fortune is fickle And even professors fall. September Twenty-fourth. This is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above! September Twenty-fifth. Can the soul, the will, die out of a man THOUGHTS FIT TO TREASURE UP. 127 September Twenty-sixth. Justinian's Pandects only make precise What simply sparkled in men's eyes before. Twitched in their brow or quivered on their lip, Waited the speech they called but would not come. September Twenty-seventh. The candid incline to surmise of late I will, to suppose it true, for my part |