We all know what it is to long that some one action should have been
otherwise, to have taken some one step which perhaps has coloured
years, and which we would give the world not to have taken. But it
cannot be. Remorse cannot alter it. Wishes are vain. Repentance is
vain. A new line of conduct is vain.
What an awful contrast in this respect between time future and time
past! Think of the indefinite possibilities in the one, the rigid
fixity of the other. Our present actions are like cements that dry
quickly and set hard on exposure to the air--the dirt of the trowel
abides on the soft brick for ever. Many cuneiform inscriptions were
impressed with a piece of wood on clay, and are legible millenniums
after.
We have to write _currente calamo_, and as soon as written, the MS. is
printed and stereotyped, and no revising proofs nor erasures are
possible. An action, once done, escapes from us wholly.
How needful, then, to have lofty principles ready at hand! The fresco
painter must have a sure touch, and a quick hand, and a full mind.
What a boundless field the future offers us! How much it may be! How
much, perhaps, we resolve it shall be! What a shrunken heap the harvest
is! Are you satisfied with what you have written?