Second, it was useless to brood over what could not be bettered; and, third, it was hurtful, inasmuch as it prevented the growth of new, hopeful, invigorating thought, and took from his strength, and the quality of his following endeavor.

A man's labors must pass like the sunrises and sunsets of the world.

The next thing, not the last, must be his care.

When he reached home, he would therefore use means to this end of diversion, and not unfrequently would write verses.
Here are those he wrote that afternoon.
LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE.
Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head A lamp that well might Pharos all the lands; Anon the light will neither burn nor spread Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands.
A Pharos?
Oh, dull brain! Oh, poor quenched lamp, Under a bushel, with an earthy smell! Moldering it lies, in rust and eating damp, While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell! For me it were enough to be a flower Knowing its root in thee was somewhere hid-- To blossom at the far appointed hour, And fold in sleep when thou, my Nature, bid.
But hear my brethren crying in the dark! Light up my lamp that it may shine abroad.
Fain would I cry--See, brothers! sisters, mark! This is the shining of light's father, God..