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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
170
The
vague,
fitful
desire
I
had
felt
from
my
childhood
to
be
something
to
the
world
I
lived
in,
to
give
it
something
of
the
the
inexpressible
sweetness
that
often
seemed
pouring
through
me,
I
knew
not
whence,
now
began
to
shape
itself
into
a
definite
outreach
towards
the
Source
of
all
spiritual
life.
To
draw
near
to
the
One
All-Beautiful
Being,
Christ,
to
know
Him
as
our
spirits
may
know
The
Spirit,
to
receive
the
breath
of
his
infinitely
loving
Life
into
mine,
that
I
might
breathe
out
that
fragrance
again
into
the
lives
around
me--this
was
the
longing
wish
that,
half
hidden
from
myself,
lay
deep
beneath
all
other
desires
of
my
soul.
This
was
what
religion
grew
to
mean
to
me,
what
it
is
still
growing
to
mean,
more
simply
and
more
clearly
as
the
years
go
on.
The
heart
must
be
very
humble
to
which
this
heavenly
approach
is
permitted.
It
knows
that
it
has
nothing
in
itself,
nothing
for
others,
which
it
has
not
received.
The
loving
Voice
of
Him
who
gives
his
friends
his
errands
to
do
whispers
through
them
constantly,
"Ye
are
not
your
own."
There
may
be
those
who
would
think
my
narrative
more
entertaining,
if
I
omitted
these
inner
experiences,
and
related
only
lighter
incidents.
But
one
thing
I
was
aware
of,
from
the
time
I
began
to
think
and
to
wonder
about
my
own
life--that
what
I
felt
and
thought
was
far
more
real
to
me
than
the
things
that
happened.
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