lost of all. To limit our passions is only to limit ourselves, and
we are the losers by just so much as we hoped to gain. There are
certain fastnesses within our soul that lie buried so deep that love
alone dare venture down; and it returns laden with undreamed-of
jewels, whose lustre can only be seen as they pass from our open
hand to the hand of one we love. And indeed it would seem that so
clear a light springs from our hands as they open thus to give, that
it penetrates substance too opaque to yield to the mysterious rays
just discovered.

92. It avails us nothing unduly to bemoan our errors or losses. For
happen what may to the man of simple faith, still, at the last
minute of the sorrow-laden hour, at the end of the week or year,
still will he find some cause for gladness as he turns his eyes
within. Little by little he has learned to regret without tears. He
is as a father might be who returns to his home in the evening, his
day's work done. He may find his children in tears perhaps, or
playing dangerous, forbidden games; the furniture scattered, glasses
broken, a lamp overturned; but shall he therefore despair? It would
certainly have been better had the children been more obedient, had
they quietly learned their lessons---this would have been more in
keeping with every moral theory; but how unreasonable the father
who, in the midst of his harsh rebuke, could withhold a smile as he
turned his head away! The children have acted unwisely, perhaps, in
their exuberance of life; but why should this distress him? All is
well, so long as he return home at night, so long as he ever keep
about him the key of the guardian dwelling. As we look into
ourselves, and pass in review what our heart, and brain, and soul
have attempted and carried through while we were away, the benefit
lies far more in the searching glance itself than in the actual