The very rays themselves sit
heavily upon our shoulders, and nearly crush us to the earth. With those
vivid impressions of the terrors of illness, we feel that our brains
will remain steeped in memories such as will enable us to appreciate our
health if we ever get it again, yea, though we have hardly a crust of
bread to spare. But lo! behold us once well again, and we have forgotten
our good fortune; at the slightest turn in our personal affairs we
bemoan our fate as sharply as though the whole night had been rolling in
upon us through some fever, or all the blasts of the arctic world had
crept through our bones in some frigid chill. There is no boon so great
as health. Of course everybody _admits_ that. But why can we not attach
meaning to it? If a man rise in a public gathering and say "I will give
a hundred dollars!" he knows exactly what he is saying, and so do his
hearers know. But if he rise behind a pulpit or on a rostrum and say
"PRESERVE YOUR HEALTH
at all hazards!" no significance so deep attaches, though the one
statement is a thousand times as important as the other.
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