Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.
I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.
I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why – not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven – and I ask what this message of Christ means.
You are out of the way of temptation and out of the way of the tempter – I didn’t mean to make you wicked – but I was – and am – and shall be – and I was with you so much that I couldn’t help contaminate.
My life closed twice before its close.
Does not Eternity appear dreadful to you. I often get to thinking of it and it seems so dark to me that I almost wish there was no Eternity. To think that we must forever live and never cease to be. It seems as if Death would be a relief to so endless a state of existence.
The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly – and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn’t think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea – I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
God’s little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
Heavenly Father – take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband – Though to trust us seem to us More respectful – We are Dust – We apologize to thee For thine own Duplicity.
Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight – Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night.
Some Arrows slay but whom they strike – But this slew all but him – Who so appareled his Escape – Too trackless for a Tomb.
When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.
I cannot help esteem The ‘Bird within the Hand’ Superior to the one The ‘Bush’ may yield me Or may not Too late to choose again.
Assent – and you are sane – Demur – and you’re straightaway dangerous – and handled with a chain.
I cling to nowhere until I fall – the crash of Nothing...
God is indeed a jealous God. He cannot bear to see, that we had rather not with him, but with each other play.
I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.