The truth is, there is no one place, however we may envy it,
which would be indisputably good for us to occupy; much less
for us to remain in. The zest of life, like the pleasure
which we receive from a work of art, or from nature, comes
from undulations –from inequalities; not from any monotony,
even though it be the monotony of seeming perfection.
The beauty of the landscape depends upon contrasts, and would be
lost in one common surface of splendor. The grandeur of the
waves is in the deep hollows, as well as the culminating
crests; and the bars of the sunset glow on the background of
the twilight. The very condition of a great thing is that it
must be comparatively a rare thing.
We speak of summer glories, and yet who would wish it to be always summer? —
who does not see how admirably the varied seasons are fitted
to our appetite for change? It may seem as if it would be
pleasant to have it always sunshine; and yet when fruit and
plant are dying from lack of moisture, and the earth sleeps
exhausted in the torrid air, who ever saw a summer morning
more beautiful than that when the clouds muster their legions
to the sound of the thunder, and pour upon us the blessing of
the rain? We repine at toil, and yet how gladly do we turn
in from the lapse of recreation to the harness of effort! We
sigh for the freedom and glory of the country; but, in due
time, just as fresh and beautiful seem to us the brick walls
and the busy streets where our lot is cast, and our interests
run.
There is no condition in life of which we can say
exclusively “It is good for us to be here.” Our course is
appointed through vicissitude,–our discipline is in
alternations; and we can build no abiding tabernacles along
the way.
-A TOKEN FOR THE SORROWING