|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Barlaam and Ioasaph by St. John of Damascus:
And, by thine infinite compassions, I pray thee, Lord Jesu
Christ, Son and Word of the invisible Father, who madest all
things by thy word, and sustainest them by thy will; who hast
delivered us thine unworthy servants from the bondage of the
arch-fiend our foe: thou that wast stretched upon the Rood, and
didst bind the strong man, and award everlasting freedom to them
that lay bound in his fetters: do thou now also stretch forth
thine invisible and almighty hand, and, at the last, free thy
servant my father from that cruel bondage of the devil. Show him
full clearly that thou art the ever living true God, and only
King, eternal and immortal. Behold, O Lord, with favourable and
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The First Men In The Moon by H. G. Wells:
understand," and staring hard at me all the time, he heeled his chair back
until it very nearly upset, and recovered with some exertion. "Not a bit
of it," said the fat young man.
"Don't you imagine that!" and they all got up and dispersed, and walked
about and lit cigarettes, and generally tried to show they were perfectly
amiable and disengaged, and entirely free from the slightest curiosity
about me and the sphere. "I'm going to keep an eye on that ship out there
all the same," I heard one of them remarking in an undertone. If only they
could have forced themselves to it, they would, I believe, even have gone
out and left me. I went on with my third egg.
"The weather," the fat little man remarked presently, "has been immense,
The First Men In The Moon
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Enoch Arden, &c. by Alfred Tennyson:
Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.
Yet hold me not for ever in thine East:
How can my nature longer mix with thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that have the power to die,
And grassy barrows of the happier dead.