Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Religion
Memoir of Mary L. Ware, Wife of Henry Ware, Jr.
Hall, Edward B. (Edward Brooks)
Unitarians -- United States -- Biography; Ware, Mary L. (Mary Lovell), 1798-1849
good to our souls.
"Do not think I am nervous or inclined to croak. I am perfectly
well, and while I look at these things seriously, I feel a
cheerful courage to contend manfully, nothing doubting that
strength will be given in aid of all right effort, and that all
these trials, if rightly used, will be so many additional aids
in attaining that heavenly-mindedness which alone can satisfy.
"All blessings attend you, dearest Henry. All send love. Your
own
"MARY."
Expressions of self-distrust and extreme discouragement seem strangely
unintelligible to many minds, when they come from those who are thought
better than others, and are always striving and advancing. Yet these are
the very persons to feel discouraged, because of the high mark they set
for themselves. And the fact that they are thought better than others,
with their keen insight of their own failings, is more apt to mortify
and depress than to exalt the humble and earnest spirit. Never, perhaps,
was Henry Ware doing more for others or himself than in the winter and
spring of the year we are reviewing. Yet in a letter to his wife,
written a few weeks after that which we just gave from her, we find the
expression of a dissatisfaction with himself, even greater than hers. It
was written on his birthday, and shows also his sense of the great
blessing which the last year had brought him. "I never yet was satisfied
with my mode of life for one year,--perhaps I may except one. But since
that I have been growing worse and worse. I did think soberly, that,
when I was settled down with you, I should turn over a new leaf; and I
began; but, by foolish degrees, I have got back to all my accustomed
carelessness and waste of powers, and am doing nothing in proportion to
what I ought to do. Yet other people tell me I do a great deal, and I am
stupid enough to take their judgment instead of my own.... These, dear
Mary, are the morning reflections with which I open my thirty-fifth
year. "Will the year be any better for them? I hope so, but I fear not;
for I do not _feel_ the weight and solemnity of these considerations as
they ought to be felt."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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