"Great God! I ask thee for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint
myself; That in my striving I may soar as high As I can now discern with
this clear eye. That my weak hand may equal my firm faith, And my life
practise more than my tongue saith. That my low conduct may not show,
Nor my relenting lines, That I thy purpose did not know Or over-rated
thy designs." How could any one, and that a grown man and a poet, have
so exactly voiced the thoughts of a young girl on a far-off Texas ranch?
" . . . . I ask thee for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint
myself." That was just it--she had disappointed herself, grievously,
bitterly. So absorbed was she that she did not hear a foot-fall, nor did
she look up until Uncle Cliff exclaimed, "All alone, Honey? That doesn't
often happen these days!" His cheerful voice expressed no regret for the
absence of the others. She looked up, and then quickly down again; but
not soon enough for the traces of tears to escape his watchful eye.
"What's up, Blue Bonnet?" he asked anxiously. He was on the rug beside
her now, and with a hand under her quivering chin tilted her face and
scanned it closely. She winked fast for a moment. "Uncle Cliff, do you
find it terribly hard to be goo
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