All My Heart Is Yours, Sir: It

I Mean That I Value Vision, And Dread Being Struck Stone Blind.

I Thank My Maker, That In The Midst Of Judgment He Has Remembered Mercy. I Humbly Entreat My Redeemer To Give Me Strength To Lead Henceforth A Purer Life Than I Have Done Hitherto.

I Longed For A Power Of Vision Which Might Overpass That Limit; Which Might Reach The Busy World, Towns, Regions Full Of Life I Had Heard Of But Never Seen: That I Desired More Of Practical Experience Than I Possessed; More Of Intercourse With My Kind, Of Acquaintance With Variety Of Character, Than Was Here Within My Reach.

My Wretched Feet, Flayed And Swollen To Lameness By The Sharp Air Of January, Began To Heal And Subside Under The Gentler Breathings Of April; The Nights And Mornings No Longer By Their Canadian Temperature Froze The Very Blood In Our Veins; We Could Now Endure The Play-hour Passed In The Garden.

I Shall Be Thirty-one Next Birthday. My Youth Is Gone Like A Dream; And Very Little Use Have I Ever Made Of It. What Have I Done These Last Thirty Years? Precious Little.