The Secret of a Perfect Life
EXPERIENCE NUMBER 6
A little more than half a century ago I drew my first breath of life. It was a day in early May, so I have been told: the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the early flowers were in bloom. It is not to be supposed that my environment in life's early hour had any influence upon the passions of my soul; nevertheless, from my earliest recollection I have been an ardent lover of the esthetical in nature. Many of the days of my childhood were spent wandering through the fields in the bright sunshine, admiring and culling the flowers; rambling through the leafy wood, listening with glad heart to the songs of birds; or sitting on the mossy bank of the rippling brooklet delighted by the music made by its crystal waters as they played among the rocks.
But the happy, innocent days of childhood do not last always: the sun does not always shine, nor the birds sing; neither do the flowers always bloom along our way. Oh, if we could only have been overlooked—many of us have thought in the dreary days of after-life—by Father Time and been left behind to be always in the green, sun-lit fields of childhood, how happy we should have been! But it was not so; and now, since I have found the riches of grace, I am glad it was not so. No one can escape the onward-leading hand of Time. He will lead us, despite our protests, into days where the sun has ceased shining, where the birds have flown to a more genial clime, and where the flowers have faded. As our much-loved poet has said,
"Into each life some rain must fall—
Some days must be dark and dreary."
My life has been a confirmation of these words.
MY FIRST SIN
Among the recollections of my early childhood, one is more deeply impressed on my mind than any other, so deeply and firmly stamped that the many and varied experiences of fifty years have failed to make it less clear and distinct to the vision of memory than it was the day it occurred. It was the committing of a sin. It may have been my first wilful transgression, but, however that may be, it was one that caused an awful sense of guilt to come into my heart, and I trembled, as it were, in an unseen presence. No one had ever spoken to me of God, of shunning the wrong, or of doing the right, except my mother (sweet today is my memory of her); so I carried my trouble to her, and in her presence the tempter led me into falsehood, so that I was made more wretched than before.