Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily a day before it perfected drop
plumb to the sad earth from off its nursing tree? Ripeness must always come
with loss of might.
...from "Diary of An Old Soul"
* * * * * * *
...also from "Diary of An Old Soul"
...George MacDonald prays.....................
I am a little weary of my life—
Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood
Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought,
Or I am weary of weariness and strife.
Open my soul-gates to thy living flood;
I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigor–fraught,
I pray thy presence, with strong patience rife.