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[Here’s a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) that reproaches the complaining and resentful attitude which almost everyone is tempted to indulge at one time or another. It’s called “The Celestial Surgeon”:]

If I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no glorious morning face;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not; if morning skies,
Books, and my food, and summer rain
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain:—

Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take
And stab my spirit broad awake;
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,
Choose thou, before that spirit die,
A piercing pain, a killing sin,
And to my dead heart run them in!

Here is a reading of it:

The Celestial Surgeon

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