Creep Into Thy Narrow Bed, Creep, And

But Thou, My Son, Study To Make Prevail One Colour In Thy Life, The Hue Of Truth.

Youth Dreams A Bliss On This Side Of Death. It Dreams A Rest, If Not More Deep, More Grateful Than This Marble Sleep; It Hears A Voice Within It Tell: Calm's Not Life's Crown, Though Calm Is Well. 'tis All Perhaps Which Man Acquires, But 'tis Not What Our Youth Desires.

The Discipline Of The Old Testament May Be Summed Up As A Discipline Teaching Us To Abhor And Flee From Sin; The Discipline Of The New Testament, As A Discipline Teaching Us To Die To It.

It Does Not Try To Reach Down To The Level Of Inferior Classes; It Does Not Try To Win Them For This Or That Sect Of Its Own, With Ready-made Judgments And Watchwords Of Its Own. It Seeks To Away With Classes, To Make The Best That Has Been Taught And Known In The World Current Everywhere, To Make All Men Live In An Atmosphere Of Sweetness And Light, Where They May Use Ideas, As It Uses Them Itself, Freely--nourished, And Not Bound By Them.

But Often, In The World’s Most Crowded Streets, But Often, In The Din Of Strife, There Rises An Unspeakable Desire After The Knowledge Of Our Buried Life; A Thirst To Spend Our Fire And Restless Force In Tracking Out Our True, Original Course; A Longing To Inquire Into The Mystery Of This Heart Which Beats So Wild, So Deep In Us—to Know Whence Our Lives Come And Where They Go.