The mind never puts forth greater power over itself when in great trials$$$ it yields up calmly its desires$$$ affections$$$ and interests in God. There are seasons when to be still demands immeasurably higher strength than to act. Composure is often the highest result of power. Do you think it demands no power to calm the stormy elements of passion$$$ to moderate the vehemence of desire$$$ to throw off the load of dejection$$$ to suppress every repining thought when the dearest hopes are withered$$$ and to turn the wounded spirit from dangerous reveries and wasting grief$$$ to the quiet discharge of ordinary duties? Is there no power put forth$$$ when a {woman}$$$ stripped of {her} property$$$ of the fruits of a life's labors$$$ quells discontent and gloomy forebodings$$$ and serenely and patiently returns to the tasks which Providence assigns?
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