Read Online Posterity by Dorie McCullough Lawson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorie McCullough Lawson
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âfruitsâ; they spring naturally from what she is, and therefore, though not meritorious, they are evidence of a character that in this particular is lovely.
Such a change of nature, from indifference to love like this, is beyond a man's power. Works we can do, but change our nature we cannot. This is God's part. He requires of us our will and wish, which if we have we will doubtless do works of love; but do what we will, He only can change the heart.
Therefore, to become what you wish, to have kindly interest in and sympathy with others, you must: 1st do works of kindness, and 2d pray continually to God to change your nature in this respect and give you a loving heart. It will take time, but never despair of it. I believe you do try not to have unkind feelings toward others, but dont stop content with that; aim at having kind interest in them.
Both your mother and I think of you, my dear child, among your present surroundings. Your friends seem to be very kind and fond of you; but we cannot be without some apprehension, believing that they are in their aims and principles entirely worldlyâliving that is for this world, and not for the next. It is not for me to judge them in this respect, but only to caution you to be careful, and not allow yourself to attach undue importance to, and care too much for, the comforts and pleasures of this world. We are all too apt to do this, but particularly when surrounded by them, as you now are. The âdeceits of the world,â as the Litany calls them, are very pleasant, particularly in youth; but the deceit is there, for they are found on experience to be unsatisfying in the end. Yet the strange thing is that even those who have by experience found this hollowness, and even talk of their emptiness, still cling to them by force of habit. I trust you may escape their taking such hold upon you. Remember that life is not only uncertain, but that it is
short
. You may or may not have a life of average length; but even if you live longâat the longest, life is short; and long before its end pleasure ceases to please. And at the end, but one thing gives pleasure; and that is a nature which, having been renewed by God, brings forth those fruits which are pleasant here, love, joy, peace, and which endure beyond the grave.
Lovingly
A. T. M.
W ASHINGTON A . R OEBLING TO
J OHN R OEBLING
âIt sounds queer to talk about my wedding; the wedding of an old man who ought to be thinking
about his grave rather than the vanities of life.â
Between the years 1870 and 1883, the Brooklyn Bridge took shape, spanning the East River and finally linking Manhattan to Brooklyn. During the last eleven of those fourteen years, the chief engineer, Washington A. Roebling, was never able to visit the construction site. He was suffering from âthe bends,â or âcaissons disease,â and a general collapse of the nervous system brought on from too rapid an ascent from the base of the Brooklyn Bridge towers under the East River. His body was riddled with pain so savage and excruciating, he found it difficult to write and speak. As well, his eyesight was failing. In building the bridge, Roebling was fulfilling his late father's vision and if he, too, were to falter, it was likely there would be no one to continue the work. In his pain and incapacitated state, communication with the world outside of Roebling's Brooklyn home was accomplished by his wife, Emily Warren Roebling. It was Mrs. Roebling who took his dictation and handled his correspondence, she who kept him abreast of the news and progress on the bridge, she who met in the living room with bridge officials and contractors, and she who delivered messages to the site where the massive bridge was being erected. It was a marriage like no other, he the invalid mastermind of the greatest engineering project of the day, and she the arms, legs, eyes, and voice connecting him with the world.
But for all Washington Roebling's
Such a change of nature, from indifference to love like this, is beyond a man's power. Works we can do, but change our nature we cannot. This is God's part. He requires of us our will and wish, which if we have we will doubtless do works of love; but do what we will, He only can change the heart.
Therefore, to become what you wish, to have kindly interest in and sympathy with others, you must: 1st do works of kindness, and 2d pray continually to God to change your nature in this respect and give you a loving heart. It will take time, but never despair of it. I believe you do try not to have unkind feelings toward others, but dont stop content with that; aim at having kind interest in them.
Both your mother and I think of you, my dear child, among your present surroundings. Your friends seem to be very kind and fond of you; but we cannot be without some apprehension, believing that they are in their aims and principles entirely worldlyâliving that is for this world, and not for the next. It is not for me to judge them in this respect, but only to caution you to be careful, and not allow yourself to attach undue importance to, and care too much for, the comforts and pleasures of this world. We are all too apt to do this, but particularly when surrounded by them, as you now are. The âdeceits of the world,â as the Litany calls them, are very pleasant, particularly in youth; but the deceit is there, for they are found on experience to be unsatisfying in the end. Yet the strange thing is that even those who have by experience found this hollowness, and even talk of their emptiness, still cling to them by force of habit. I trust you may escape their taking such hold upon you. Remember that life is not only uncertain, but that it is
short
. You may or may not have a life of average length; but even if you live longâat the longest, life is short; and long before its end pleasure ceases to please. And at the end, but one thing gives pleasure; and that is a nature which, having been renewed by God, brings forth those fruits which are pleasant here, love, joy, peace, and which endure beyond the grave.
Lovingly
A. T. M.
W ASHINGTON A . R OEBLING TO
J OHN R OEBLING
âIt sounds queer to talk about my wedding; the wedding of an old man who ought to be thinking
about his grave rather than the vanities of life.â
Between the years 1870 and 1883, the Brooklyn Bridge took shape, spanning the East River and finally linking Manhattan to Brooklyn. During the last eleven of those fourteen years, the chief engineer, Washington A. Roebling, was never able to visit the construction site. He was suffering from âthe bends,â or âcaissons disease,â and a general collapse of the nervous system brought on from too rapid an ascent from the base of the Brooklyn Bridge towers under the East River. His body was riddled with pain so savage and excruciating, he found it difficult to write and speak. As well, his eyesight was failing. In building the bridge, Roebling was fulfilling his late father's vision and if he, too, were to falter, it was likely there would be no one to continue the work. In his pain and incapacitated state, communication with the world outside of Roebling's Brooklyn home was accomplished by his wife, Emily Warren Roebling. It was Mrs. Roebling who took his dictation and handled his correspondence, she who kept him abreast of the news and progress on the bridge, she who met in the living room with bridge officials and contractors, and she who delivered messages to the site where the massive bridge was being erected. It was a marriage like no other, he the invalid mastermind of the greatest engineering project of the day, and she the arms, legs, eyes, and voice connecting him with the world.
But for all Washington Roebling's
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