claimed admiration. There came into my mind that exquisite and
beautiful ode, the work too, strange to say, of a transcendent
egotist, Coventry Patmore, and the prayer he made:


"Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,
Nor vexing Thee in death,
And Thou rememberest of what toys
We made our joys,
How weakly understood
Thy great commanded good,
Then, fatherly not less
Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,
Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say,
'I will be sorry for their childishness.'"


This is where we may leave our problem; leave it, that is to
say, if we have faithfully struggled with it, if we have tried to
amend ourselves and to encourage others; if we have done all this,
and reached a point beyond which progress seems impossible. But we
must not fling our problems and perplexities, as we are apt to do,
upon the knees of God, the very instant they begin to bewilder us,
as children bring a tangled skein, or a toy bent crooked, to a
nurse. We must not, I say; and yet, after all, I am not sure that
it is not the best and simplest way of all!