I have actually
forgotten to write for months in this book. I fear me, "my heart is nae
here." I have lived a good deal in the past week, and the world has been
doing a great business, our country in particular. The Prince has turned the
heads of our democratic people, and Republicans have chosen a President at
last. That is glorious! Freedom takes long strides in these better days. The
millennium is not so far off as we feared. While there is so much to be lived
outside, who cares for the little self-life of a journal? But I never meant it
to be a "subjective" one, and when it has been so, it has been so
because I was living below my ideal. Yet this shall be just the book my
thoughts shape from their various moods; when the thought is for myself, I will
write it, and when it is for another, I will write it too.
"Whose window opened towards the rising
sun.”
So the happy pilgrim
rested, knowing that as soon as there was light anywhere, he should have the
first ray. Strange, that every Christian sojourner should not seek a room with
windows opening to the dawn! Some of them seem afraid of the sun; they choose a
chamber having only a black, northerly outlook, and lie down saying, "What
a dreary, miserable world!" And what wonder that they should grow thin and
sickly-plants of the shade must ever be so; the soul, as well as the body,
needs large draughts of sunshine for vigorous life.
SOURCE: Daniel
Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life,
Letters, and Diary, p. 77-8
No comments:
Post a Comment