Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
  And could of men distinguish, her election
  Hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been
  As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
  A man that fortune’s buffets and rewards
  Hast ta’en with equal thanks; and bless’d are those
  Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled
  That they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger
  To sound what stop she please.  Give me that man
  That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him
  In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,
  As I do thee.

William Shakespeare.

THE BARS OF FATE

“There ain’t no such beast,” ejaculated a farmer as he gazed at the rhinoceros at a circus.  His incredulity did not of course do away with the existence of the creature.  But our incredulity about many of our difficulties will do away with them.  They exist chiefly in our imaginations.

  I stood before the bars of Fate
  And bowed my head disconsolate;
  So high they seemed, so fierce their frown. 
  I thought no hand could break them down.

  Beyond them I could hear the songs
  Of valiant men who marched in throngs;
  And joyful women, fair and free,
  Looked back and waved their hands to me.

  I did not cry “Too late! too late!”
  Or strive to rise, or rail at Fate,
  Or pray to God.  My coward heart,
  Contented, played its foolish part.

  So still I sat, the tireless bee
  Sped o’er my head, with scorn for me,
  And birds who build their nests in air
  Beheld me, as I were not there.

  From twig to twig, before my face,
  The spiders wove their curious lace,
  As they a curtain fine would see
  Between the hindering bars and me.

  Then, sudden change!  I heard the call
  Of wind and wave and waterfall;
  From heaven above and earth below
  A clear command—­“ARISE AND GO!”

  I upward sprang in all my strength,
  And stretched my eager hands at length
  To break the bars—­no bars were there;
  My fingers fell through empty air!

Ellen M.H.  Gates.

From “To the Unborn Peoples.”

ULTIMATE ACT

It is well to have purposes we can carry out.  It is also well to have purposes so lofty that we cannot carry them out; for these latter are the mighty inner fires which warm our being at its core and without which our impulse to do even the lesser things would be feeble.

  I had rather cut man’s purpose deeper than
  Achieving it be crowned as conqueror;
  To will divinely is to accomplish more
  Than a mere deed:  it fills anew the wan
  Aspect of life with blood; it draws upon
  Sources beyond the common reach and lore
  Of mortals, to replenish at its core