Is it raining, little flower? 
    Be glad of rain. 
  Too much sun would wither thee,
    ’Twill shine again. 
  The sky is very black, ’tis true,
    But just behind it shines
      The blue.

  Art thou weary, tender heart? 
    Be glad of pain;
  In sorrow the sweetest things will grow
    As flowers in the rain. 
  God watches and thou wilt have sun
    When clouds their perfect work
      Have done.

Anonymous.

GRADATIM

In the old fable the tortoise won the race from the hare, not by a single burst of speed, but by plodding on steadily, tirelessly.  In the Civil War it was found that Lee’s army could not be overwhelmed in a single battle, but one Federal general perceived that it could be worn down by time and the pressure of numbers.  “I propose,” said Grant, “to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.”  It took more than a summer; it took nearly a year—­but he did it.  In the moral realm likewise, “All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare.”  Character is not attained over-night.  The only way to develop moral muscles is to exercise them patiently and long.

  Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
    But we build the ladder by which we rise
    From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
  And we mount to its summit, round by round.

  I count this thing to be grandly true: 
    That a noble deed is a step towards God,—­
    Lifting the soul from the common clod
  To a purer air and a broader view.

  We rise by the things that are under feet;
    By what we have mastered of good and gain;
    By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
  And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

  We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
    When the morning calls us to life and light,
    But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
  Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

  We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
    And we think that we mount the air on wings
    Beyond the recall of sensual things,
  While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

  Wings for the angels, but feet for men! 
    We may borrow the wings to find the way—­
    We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
  But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

  Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
    From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
    But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
  And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

  Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
    But we build the ladder by which we rise
    From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
  And we mount to its summit, round by round.

J.G.  Holland.

From “Complete Poetical Writings.”

RULES FOR THE ROAD