At this exigent moment the loss of
a finished man is not easily supplied.
But a Disposer whose power we are little able to resist, and whose
wisdom it behoves us not at all to dispute, has ordained it in another
manner, and (whatever my querulous weakness might suggest) a far better.
The storm has gone over me; and I lie like one of those old oaks which
the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of all my
honors, I am torn up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth.
There, and prostrate there, I most unfeignedly recognize the Divine
justice, and in some degree submit to it. But whilst I humble myself
before God, I do not know that it is forbidden to repel the attacks of
unjust and inconsiderate men. The patience of Job is proverbial. After
some of the convulsive struggles of our irritable nature, he submitted
himself, and repented in dust and ashes. But even so, I do not find him
blamed for reprehending, and with a considerable degree of verbal
asperity, those ill-natured neighbors of his who visited his dunghill to
read moral, political, and economical lectures on his misery. I am
alone. I have none to meet my enemies in the gate. Indeed, my Lord, I
greatly deceive myself, if in this hard season I would give a peck of
refuse wheat for all that is called fame and honor in the world. This is
the appetite but of a few. It is a luxury, it is a privilege, it is an
indulgence for those who are at their ease.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219