The year had been full of sickness and sorrow.
Everyday brought trouble.
Every night was tormented with pain.They are very long - those nights
when one lies awake, and hears the laboring heart
pumping wearily at its task and watches for the morning,
not knowing whether it will ever dawn.
They are not nights of fear;
for the thought of death grows strangely familiar
when you have lived with it for a year.
Besides, after a time you come to feel like a soldier
who has been long standing still under fire:
any change would be a relief.
But they are lonely nights;
they are very heavy nights.
And their heaviest burden is this:
You must face the thought that your work in the world
may be almost ended, but you know that it is not nearly finished.
You have not solved the problems that perplexed you.
You have not reached the goal that you aimed at.
You have not accomplished the great task that you set for yourself.
You are still on the way;
and perhaps your journey must end now, - nowhere, - in the dark.
-from The Story of the Other Wise Man by Henry van Dyke
