Oh, Inspiration! The real thing! Divine, ecstatic, but
fleeting; it must be caught at the flood.
The pencil raced.
And sad, indeed, is that life which sails on its own way, wrapped in
its own gloom, giving out no signal and heeding none, hailing not
its fellow and heeding no hail. For the gloom will grow greater and
greater; there will be no sympathy to tide it over the rocks; no
momentary gleams of love to help it through its struggle; and the
storms will rage fiercer and the sails will hang lower until, at
last, it will go down, alone and unwept, never knowing the joy of
living and never reaching the goal.
So let these ships, which have such a vast, such an unutterable
influence, use that influence for brightening the encompassing
gloom. Let them not be wrapped in their own selfishness or sorrow,
but let their voice be filled with hope and love. For, by so doing,
the waters of Life will grow smoother, and the signals will never
flicker.
The inspired instrument lapsed from nerveless fingers; the author
relaxed in her chair and sighed a deep sigh. All of a sudden she
felt tired, tired; but it is a blessed weariness that comes after a
divine frenzy has had its way with you.
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