A Book of Strife in the Form of a Diary of an Old Soul

by Samuel Hall Young

According to Wikipedia: "John Muir (21 April 1838 - 24 December 1914) was a Scottish-born American naturalist, author, and early advocate of preservation of wilderness in the United States. His letters, essays, and books telling of his adventures in nature, especially in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, have been read by millions. His activism helped to save the Yosemite Valley, Sequoia National Park and other wilderness areas. The Sierra Club, which he founded, is now one of the most important conservation organizations in the United States."

Nook

First published March 1, 2010

About the author

Samuel Hall Young graduated from the University of Wooster in Ohio and the Western Theological Seminary in Allegheny, Pennsylvania and was ordained by the Presbyterian Church. He went to Fort Wrangel, Alaska as a missionary and explorer, organized the first Protestant Church in Alaska, held pastorates in California, Illinois, Iowa, and Ohio and was later sent to the Klondike. In 1879 and again in 1880 he accompanied John Muir when he discovered Glacier Bay, Alaska. During a mountain climb near Glendora on the Stikine River, he almost fell to his death after dislocating both arms and was only saved from a narrow ledge when John Muir pulled him to safety with his teeth. In 1904, he established the First Presbyterian Church in the new town of Fairbanks. He was appointed superintendent of Presbyterian missions in Alaska.
1847-1927

Reviews

[Jasonlylescampbell · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was good because MacDonald is such a wise man and it is from a time when writing verse was something that mattered to people. Here are some samples of what I liked.

“REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not made me good.
Or if thou didst, it was so long ago
I have forgotten—and never understood,
I humbly think. At best it was a crude,
A rough-hewn goodness, that did need this woe,
This sin, these harms of all kinds fierce and rude,
To shape it out, making it live and grow.”

“With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh—
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.”

“Keep me, Lord, with thee. I call from out the dark—
Hear in thy light, of which I am a spark.
I know not what is mine and what is thine—
Of branch and stem I miss the differing mark—
But if a mere hair's-breadth me separateth,
That hair's-breadth is eternal, infinite death.
For sap thy dead branch calls, O living vine!”

Oh, make my anger pure—let no worst wrong
Rouse in me the old niggard selfishness.
Give me thine indignation—which is love
Turned on the evil that would part love's throng;
Thy anger scathes because it needs must bless,
Gathering into union calm and strong
All things on earth, and under, and above.”