I will live the life of
a learner; I will be docile if I can. I might indeed have been
stripped of everything, bidden to join the humblest tribe of
workers for daily bread. But God has spared my weakness, and I
should be faithless indeed, if, seeing how intently His will has
dealt with me, I did not recognise the clear guiding of His hand.
He has given me a place and a quiet work to do; these strange
bereavements, one after another, have not hardened me. I feel the
bonds of love for those whom I have lost drawn closer every hour.
They are waiting for me, I am sure of that. It is not reason, it is
not faith which prompts me; it is a far deeper and stronger
instinct, which I could not doubt if I would. What wonder if I look
forward with an eager and an ardent hope to death. I can conceive
no more welcome tidings than the tidings that death was at hand.
But I do not expect to die. My health of body is almost
miraculously preserved. What I dare to hope is that I may learn by
slow degrees to set the happiness of others above my own. I will
listen for any sound of grief or discontent, and I will try to
quiet it. I will spend my time and strength as freely as I can.
That is a far-off hope.
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