|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Barlaam and Ioasaph by St. John of Damascus:
of this noble youth, and attacked him by kindling right furiously
the furnace of his flesh. The evil one plied the bellows from
within, while the damsels, fair of face, but uncomely of soul,
supplied the evil fuel from without.
But Ioasaph's pure soul was disturbed to feel the touch of evil,
and to see the warlike host of strange thoughts that was charging
down upon him. And he sought to find deliverance from this great
mischief, and to present himself pure unto Christ, and not defile
in the mire of sinful lust that holy apparel, wherein the grace
of holy Baptism had clothed him. Immediately he set love against
love, the divine against the lascivious; and he called to
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Aeneid by Virgil:
These he consults, the future fates to know,
From pow'rs above, and from the fiends below.
Here, for the gods' advice, Latinus flies,
Off'ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice:
Their woolly fleeces, as the rites requir'd,
He laid beneath him, and to rest retir'd.
No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound,
When, from above, a more than mortal sound
Invades his ears; and thus the vision spoke:
"Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke
Our fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke.
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu:
almost wholly to those two periods. As they seemed to me to have
an individual beauty of their own, I thought they ought to be
published. The writer hesitated. "Your letter made me very
proud and very sad," she wrote. "Is it possible that I have
written verses that are 'filled with beauty,' and is it possible
that you really think them worthy of being given to the world?
You know how high my ideal of Art is; and to me my poor casual
little poems seem to be less than beautiful--I mean with that
final enduring beauty that I desire." And, in another letter,
she writes: "I am not a poet really. I have the vision and the
desire, but not the voice. If I could write just one poem full