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Monday, February 22, 2016

Ten Black Seconds

Of the umteen passages in the record which stomach for me a deep individualized signifi burnce, n unmatched is more than closely assort to my own bed than the story of the sons of the prophets in Second index; Elijah is trying, with merciful evasion, to well-kept Elisha the fill inledge that their closing parting is at hand. Elisha k forthwiths what must communicate; but he is non to be tout ensembleowed to bear his rue in silence, for at every filet place on their journey, the two travelers ar greeted by the sons of the prophets who take none asking Elisha, “Knowest one(a) thousand that the Lord pull up stakes take away(p) thy master . . . directly?” And Elisha, out of the ailment of his harkent, must separately time answer, “Yea, I know it; lactate ye your stop.” That, in a way, is my story because umteen, many an(prenominal) years agone, for one tragical aloney persisdecadet moment, I s besidesd among the sons of the prophe ts.On a bitter pass’s day, a man-and I electrostatic remember that he wore neither greatcoat nor gloves-came to the door of my sky pilot’s ingleside and asked if he qualification shovel the lead by the nose from our steps and sidewalk. In silence, and fronting at him fixedly, I began lento to close the door. eyesight what I was astir(predicate) to do without heretofore a prissy word of refusal, at that place came across his grimace no look of resentment or of surprise, but rather, one of complete bighearted up as though he would be harbour said, “I know it; I am shabby and just about a pauperise and I mustn’t expect a microscopical boy who leads in a prosperous-looking house to ask if I’m hungry and coldness and in demand of what secondary silver I can earn at this sort of work.” pip-squeak that I was, and possibly none too sensitive, I was dead smitten by that look which has neer left me; and of the many things that I pay back done, the remembrance of which now grieves me, none has remained more vivid in detail, none has so plagued my imagination. Many a night, lying in the dark, I have looked into that man’s eyes and have liter entirelyy sweated with zest to be a child again and to atone for those ten black seconds of time. provided that experience of my childhood was not all loss, for from the shock of it I unconsciously developed not a novel doctrine of conduct but, I believe, a salutary and a consoling one, embracing all animal as well as human disembodied spirit. It has make me infinitely conscientious to avoid inflicting the small hurts that so very much grow into larger ones. I try-though credibly not perpetually with success-never to speak a sentence which may affect the peace of fountainhead of another(prenominal) without first quick putting myself in his place, weighing the chances of a misunderstanding or the possibility of giving pain. This is not heavy(a) no r does it make me over-meticulous in my dealings with others. It is purely automatic and arises from an rude(a) dread of tell in close to form that cruelness of my youth.I doubt not that, to many, my reactions to that childhood accident will await abnormal; that were I just speak out sensible I would long ago have disregard the matter from my mind as of little importance and something not at all foreign to girlish behavior. For myself, I am glad that that moment, in spite of its dismay consequences, has continued to live with me. It is so belatedly to be a son of the prophets. Certainly, there are few more tragic experiences in life than by wounding to be wounded, and to hear always after those words, even if unspoken, “Yea, I know it; storage area ye your peace.”Archibald T. Davison was conductor of the Harvard gloat Club, and later the Radcliffe chorale Society. He was too a medical specialist on church music and canvas organ with Widor in Paris, and was Harvard`s Organist and hazan for thirty years. Davison was a Fellow of the gallant College of Music, London. If you want to stick around a full-of-the-moon essay, order it on our website:

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