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 when death finds me, so that I may be able to say to God, "Have I in any respect transgressed Thy commands? Have I in any respect misused the resources which Thou gavest me, or used my senses to no purpose, or my preconceptions? Have I ever found any fault with Thee? Have I blamed Thy governance at all? I fell sick, when it was Thy will; so did other men, but I willingly. I became poor, it being Thy will, but with joy, I have held no office, because Thou didst not will it, and I never set my heart upon office. Hast Thou ever seen me for that reason greatly dejected? Have I not ever come before Thee with a radiant countenance, ready for any injunctions or orders Thou mightest give? And now it is Thy will that I leave this festival; I go, I am full of gratitude to Thee that Thou hast deemed me worthy to take part in this festival with Thee, and to see Thy works, and to understand Thy governance." Be this my thought, this my writing, this my reading, when death comes upon me.

But my mother will not hold my head in her arms when I am ill.—Very well, go back to your mother; you are just the sort of person that deserves to have his head held in somebody's arms when he is ill!—But at home I used to have a nice bed to lie on.—Go back to your bed; without doubt you deserve to lie on such a fine bed even when you are well! Pray, then, do not lose by staying here what you can do there.

But what does Socrates say? "As one man rejoices," remarks he, "in improving his own farm, and another his own horse, so I rejoice day by day 43