| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians by Martin Luther: righteousness and everlasting life.
VERSE 6. For in Jesus Christ neither circumcision availeth any thing,
nor uncircumcision, but faith which worketh by love.
Faith must of course be sincere. It must be a faith that performs good
works through love. If faith lacks love it is not true faith. Thus the Apostle
bars the way of hypocrites to the kingdom of Christ on all sides. He
declares on the one hand, "In Christ Jesus circumcision availeth nothing,"
i.e., works avail nothing, but faith alone, and that without any merit
whatever, avails before God. On the other hand, the Apostle declares that
without fruits faith serves no purpose. To think, "If faith justifies without
works, let us work nothing," is to despise the grace of God. Idle faith is not
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Pupil by Henry James: them all, without a care, an anxiety, a solitary want? Wasn't he
sure of his position, and wasn't that everything to a young man
like him, quite unknown, with singularly little to show, the ground
of whose exorbitant pretensions it had never been easy to discover?
Wasn't he paid above all by the sweet relation he had established
with Morgan - quite ideal as from master to pupil - and by the
simple privilege of knowing and living with so amazingly gifted a
child; than whom really (and she meant literally what she said)
there was no better company in Europe? Mrs. Moreen herself took to
appealing to him as a man of the world; she said "Voyons, mon
cher," and "My dear man, look here now"; and urged him to be
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu: Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
VILLAGE-SONG
Honey, child, honey, child, whither are you
going?
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes
blowing?
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