But courage, and patience, and faith, and hope have their limit. Blessed be the man who escapes such trial as will determine limit! To a lone man it … - Donald Grant Mitchell

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But courage, and patience, and faith, and hope have their limit. Blessed be the man who escapes such trial as will determine limit!
To a lone man it comes not near; for how can trial take hold where there is nothing by which to try?
A funeral? You reason with philosophy. A grave yard? You read Hervey and muse upon the wall. A friend dies? You sigh, you pat your dog,—it is over. Losses? You retrench—you light your pipe—it is forgotten. Calumny? You laugh—you sleep.
But with that childless wife clinging to you in love and sorrow—what then?
Can you take down now, and coolly blow the dust from the leaf-tops? Can you crimp your lip with ? Can you smoke idly, your feet dangling with the ivies, your thoughts all waving fancies upon a church-yard wall—a wall that borders the grave of your boy?
Can you amuse yourself by turning stinging into rhyme? Can you pat your dog, and seeing him wakeful and kind, say, "it is enough?" Can you sneer at calumny, and sit by your fire dozing?