| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Profits of Religion by Upton Sinclair: our blessed Lord will return. Yet the time may not end till the
close of the A. M. year, which will be March 20th, 1897. But let
us take up the sickle of God, etc. Oh, my Christian friends, live
near the Blessed Christ, and gain eternal life through Jesus Our
Lord!
In the public library I find another pamphlet, entitled "The Our
Race," which proves that the "lost ten tribes of Israel" are not
the American Indians, but the Irish! And here is a publication of
the "Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society," declaring:
The great pyramid in Egypt is a witness to all the events of the
ages and of our day. The pyramid's downward passage under "a
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Chance by Joseph Conrad: quarters of the great financial force of the day. The word THRIFT
perched right up on the roof in giant gilt letters, and two enormous
shield-like brass-plates curved round the corners on each side of
the doorway were the only shining spots in de Barral's business
outfit. Nobody knew what operations were carried on inside except
this--that if you walked in and tendered your money over the counter
it would be calmly taken from you by somebody who would give you a
printed receipt. That and no more. It appears that such knowledge
is irresistible. People went in and tendered; and once it was taken
from their hands their money was more irretrievably gone from them
than if they had thrown it into the sea. This then, and nothing
Chance |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Amy Foster by Joseph Conrad: brute. . . ."
With the sun hanging low on its western limit,
the expanse of the grass-lands framed in the coun-
ter-scarps of the rising ground took on a gorgeous
and sombre aspect. A sense of penetrating sad-
ness, like that inspired by a grave strain of music,
disengaged itself from the silence of the fields.
The men we met walked past slow, unsmiling, with
downcast eyes, as if the melancholy of an over-bur-
dened earth had weighted their feet, bowed their
shoulders, borne down their glances.
Amy Foster |
