“What would be the heart of an old weather-beaten hollow stump, if the leaves and blossoms of its youth were suddenly to spring up out of the mould around it, and to remind it how bright and blissful summer was in the years of its prime!
That which has died within us, is often the saddest portion of what Death has taken away, sad to all, sad above measure to those in whom no higher life has been awakened. The heavy thought is the thought of what we were, of what we hoped and purpost to have been, of what we ought to have been, of what but for ourselves we might have been, set by the side of what we are; as though we were haunted by the ghost of our own youth. This is a thought the crushing weight of which nothing but strength above our own can lighten.” Guesses at Truth.
I look often into faces that have let years go by without fruitage. Addiction and wayward living steal years so silently and swiftly, that when finally realized, it seems impossible that whole seasons have been lost. That being said, I’m sure there is not a person, when assessing the years, cannot find many that lay fallow.