resence gives a little fillip to the
proceedings; and I myself get all the benefit of change of scene,
together with simple unexhausting companionship.

Hark! it is midnight! The soft murmur of bells rises on the clear air,
toppling over in a sweet cascade of sound, bringing hope and peace to
the heart. In the attic above I hear the children moving softly about,
and catch the echo of young voices. They are supposed to be asleep, but
I gather that they have been under a vow to keep awake in turn, the
watcher to rouse the others just before midnight. The bells peal on,
coming in faint gusts of sound, now loud, now low.

I suppose if I were more simple-minded I should have been thinking over
my faults and failures, desiring to do better, making good resolutions.
But I don't do that. I do desire, with all my heart, to do better. I
know how faltering, how near the ground my flight is. But these formal,
occasional repentances are useless things; resolutions do little but
reveal one's weakness more patently. What I try to do is simply to
uplift my heart with all its hopes and weaknesses to God, to try to put
my hand in His, to pray that I may use the chances He gives me, and
interpret the sorrows He may send me. He knows me utterly and entirely,
my faults and my strength. I cannot fly from Him though I take the
wings of the morning. I only pray that I may not harden my heart; that
I may be sought and found; that I may have the courage I need. All that
I have of good He has given me; and as for the evil, He knows best why
I am tempted, why I fall, though I would not. There is no strength like
the abasement of weakness; no power like a childlike confidence. One
thing only I shall do before I sleep--give a thought to all I love and
hold dear, my kin, my friends, and most of all, my boys: I shall
remember each, and, while I commend them to the keeping of God, I shall
pray that they may not suffer through any neglect or carelessness of my
own. It is not, after all, a question of the quantity of what we do,
but of the quality of it. God knows and I know of how poor a stuff our
dreams and deeds are woven; but if it is the best we can give, if we
desire with all our hearts what is noble and pure and beautiful and
true--or even desire to desire it--He will accept the will and purify
the deed. And in such a mood as this--and God forgive us for not more
often dwelling in such thoughts--I can hope and feel that the most
tragic failure, t