| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Profits of Religion by Upton Sinclair: that he bears the title of "Reverend", also the sobriquet of
"Mountain Missionary". I ask him to permit me to examine the
hymn-book which he uses in his work, and with touching eagerness
he presses upon me a well-worn volume bearing the title "Waves of
Glory". I seat myself and note down a few of the baits it sets
out for hungry wage-slaves:
O, there's a plenty, O, there's a plenty,
There's a plenty in my Father's bank above!
Riches in glory, riches in glory,
Royal supply our wants exceed!
Feasting, I'm feasting,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Timaeus by Plato: they are corrupted through two causes; but of neither of them are they
really the authors. For the planters are to blame rather than the plants,
the educators and not the educated. Still, we should endeavour to attain
virtue and avoid vice; but this is part of another subject.
Enough of disease--I have now to speak of the means by which the mind and
body are to be preserved, a higher theme than the other. The good is the
beautiful, and the beautiful is the symmetrical, and there is no greater or
fairer symmetry than that of body and soul, as the contrary is the greatest
of deformities. A leg or an arm too long or too short is at once ugly and
unserviceable, and the same is true if body and soul are disproportionate.
For a strong and impassioned soul may 'fret the pigmy body to decay,' and
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare: And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control.
CXXVI
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
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