恐怕我传福音给别人的时候，自己也成了落伍的人。如果有人现在将文本和说教,说教,——有些人可能忘记了他的真理是什么老一千年哭闹的嘴时充满了他的,一些人可能会把他的生命扔到老无聊的骨架点和道德,推论,证明,希望,怀疑,主张所有的时间数不清的肉体的疲惫不堪,一个可以从思想如何失去一个知道他的教训,自己如何与另一个,可能是choicer,风格执行,用另一种观点和另一种逻辑来看待它——找一个温暖的人，有一颗罕见的心，相信自己，因为爱而知道——是的，这样一个人，用这样的主题，也许会唤醒我，就像我唤醒别人一样，我只不过是上帝赐给我口才的管家，是为了别人而不是为了我。只是没有人替我们担当使徒的职分。我们教了又教，直到像打鼓的教师一样，我们不再认为我们所教的东西比被教和被学有更高的目的。,如果一个人自己应该大声哭泣,“我罪,你们是犯罪,我们所有的人说周日半神的爱,努力将我们的人民,然后回家睡觉时,当又新鲜,计划另一个布道,没有感动,为我们的神就像一台机械钟哨兵,我们谁有灵魂自己,“为什么我喜欢其余的应该把愤怒地:“嘘这江湖骗子,在他明目张胆的傲慢,假设我们知道我们的职责。”然而，那篇使我恼怒的经文，在它的主题上可以作怎样的布道啊!就连我自己也能搅动我们的一些神职人员!啊!可是，谁会惊动我呢? I know not how it is; I take the faith in earnest, I believe, Even at happy times I think I love, I try to pattern me upon the type My Master left us, am no hypocrite Playing my soul against good men's applause, Nor monger of the Gospel for a cure, But serve a Master whom I chose because It seemed to me I loved him, whom till now My longing is to love; and yet I feel A falseness somewhere clogging me. I seem Divided from myself; I can speak words Of burning faith and fire myself with them; I can, while upturned faces gaze on me As if I were their Gospel manifest, Break into unplanned turns as natural As the blind man's cry for healing, pass beyond My bounded manhood in the earnestness Of a messenger from God. And then I come And in my study's quiet find again The callous actor who, because long since He had some feelings in him like the talk The book puts in his mouth, still warms his pit And even, in his lucky moods, himself With the passion of his part, but lays aside His heroism with his satin suit And thinks "the part is good and well conceived And very natural -- no flaw to find" -- And then forgets it. Yes I preach to others And am -- I know not what -- a castaway? No, but a man who feels his heart asleep, As he might feel his hand or foot. The limb Will not awake without a little shock, A little pain perhaps, a nip or blow, And that one gives and feels the waking pricks. But for one's heart I know not. I can give No shock to make mine prick. I seem to be Just such a man as those who claim the power Or have it, (say, to serve the thought), of willing That such a one should break an iron bar, And such a one resist the strength of ten, And the thing is done, yet cannot will themselves One least small breath of power beyond the wont. To-night now I might triumph. Not a breath But shivered when I pictured the dead soul Awaking when the body dies to know Itself has lived too late, and drew in long With yearning when I shewed how perfect love Might make Earth's self be but an earlier Heaven. And I may say and not be over-bold, Judging from former fruits, "Some one to-night Has come more near to God, some one has felt What it may mean to love Him, some one learned A new great horror against death and sin, Some one at least -- it may be many." Yet -- And yet -- Why I the preacher look for God, Saying "I know thee Lord, what I should see If I could see thee as some can on earth, But I do not see thee," and "I know thee Lord, What loving thee is like, as if I loved, But I cannot love thee." And even with the thought The answer grows "Thine is the greater sin," And I stand self-convicted yet not shamed, But quiet, reasoning why it should be thus, And almost wishing I could suddenly Fall in some awful sin, that so might come A living sense of God, if but by fear, And a repentance sharp as is the need. But now, the sin being indifference, Repentance too is tepid. There are some, Good men and honest though not overwise Nor studious of the