He is the coward slave of his environment,
hopelessly surrendering to his present condition, recklessly
indifferent to his future. He accepts his life as a rudderless ship,
drifting on the ocean of time. He has no compass, no chart, no known
port to which he is sailing. His self-confessed inferiority to all
nature is shown in his existence of constant surrender. It is not,--
calmness.
The man who is calm has his course in life clearly marked on his chart.
His hand is ever on the helm. Storm, fog, night, tempest, danger,
hidden reefs,--he is ever prepared and ready for them. He is made calm
and serene by the realization that in these crises of his voyage he
needs a clear mind and a cool head; that he has naught to do but to do
each day the best he can by the light he has; that he will never flinch
nor falter for a moment; that, though he may have to tack and leave his
course for a time, he will never drift, he will get back into the true
channel, he will keep ever headed toward his harbor. _When_ he
will reach it, _how_ he will reach it, matters not to him. He
rests in calmness, knowing he has done his best. If his best seem to be
overthrown or overruled, then he must still bow his head,--in calmness.
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