mfort! Lord, I'll clim' to thee, an'
gaither o' the healin' 'at grows for the nations i' thy gairden.

"I see the thing as plain's thing can be: the cure o' a' ill 's jist
mair life! That's it! Life abune an' ayont the life 'at took the
stroke! An' gien throu' this hert-brak I come by mair life, it'll be
jist ane o' the throes o' my h'avenly birth--i' the whilk the bairn has
as mony o' the pains as the mither: that's maybe a differ 'atween the
twa--the earthly an' the h'avenly!

"Sae noo I hae to begin fresh, an' lat the thing 'at's past an' gane
slip efter ither dreams. Eh, but it's a bonny dream yet! It lies
close 'ahin' me, no to be forgotten, no to be luikit at--like ane o'
thae dreams o' watter an' munelicht 'at has nae wark i' them: a body
wadna lie a' nicht an' a' day tu in a dream o' the sowl's gloamin'! Na,
Lord; mak o' me a strong man, an' syne gie me as muckle o' the bonny as
may please thee. Wha am I to lippen til, gien no to thee, my ain
father an' mither an' gran'father an' a' body in ane, for thoo giedst
me them a'!

"Noo I'm to begin again--a fresh life frae this minute! I'm to set oot
frae this verra p'int, like ane o' the youngest sons i' the fairy
tales, to seek my portion, an' see what's comin' to meet me as I gang
to meet hit. The warl' afore me's my story-buik. I canna see ower the
leaf till I come to the en' o' 't. Whan I was a bairn, jist able, wi'
sair endeevour, to win at the hert o' print, I never wad luik on afore!
The ae time I did it, I thoucht I had dune a shamefu' thing, like
luikin' in at a keyhole--as I did jist ance tu, whan I thank God my
mither gae me sic a blessed lickin' 'at I kent it maun be something
dreidfu' I had dune. Sae here's for what's comin'! I ken whaur it
maun come frae, an' I s' make it welcome. My mither says the main
mischeef i' the warl' is, 'at fowk winna lat the Lord hae his ain w'y,
an' sae he has jist to tak it, whilk maks it a sair thing for them."

Therewith he rose to encounter that which was on its way to meet him.
He is a fool who stands and lets life move past him like a panorama.
He also is a fool who would lay hands on its motion, and change its
pictures. He can but distort and injure, if he does not ruin them, and
come upon awful shadows behind them.

And lo! as he glanced around him, already something of the old
mysterious loveliness, now for so long vanished from the face of the
visible world, had returned to it--not yet as it was be