Wherefore also Thou didst break my bones with
the staff of Thy correction.
Away with those then from my soul who say to her, "It makes a
difference whence a man's joy is. That beggar-man joyed in
drunkenness; Thou desiredst to joy in glory." What glory, Lord? That
which is not in Thee. For even as his was no true joy, so was that
no true glory: and it overthrew my soul more. He that very night
should digest his drunkenness; but I had slept and risen again with
mine, and was to sleep again, and again to rise with it, how many
days, Thou, God, knowest. But "it doth make a difference whence a
man's joy is." I know it, and the joy of a faithful hope lieth
incomparably beyond such vanity. Yea, and so was he then beyond me:
for he verily was the happier; not only for that he was thoroughly
drenched in mirth, I disembowelled with cares: but he, by fair wishes,
had gotten wine; I, by lying, was seeking for empty, swelling
praise. Much to this purpose said I then to my friends: and I often
marked in them how it fared with me; and I found it went ill with
me, and grieved, and doubled that very ill; and if any prosperity
smiled on me, I was loth to catch at it, for almost before I could
grasp it, it flew away.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173