ar better than
now, and the heaven predicted from the beginning of the world, and still
predicted from the bottom of the heart, would organize itself, as do now
the rose and the air and the sun.

I say, do not choose; but that is a figure of speech by which I would
distinguish what is commonly called choice among men, and which is a
partial act, the choice of the hands, of the eyes, of the appetites, and
not a whole act of the man. But that which I call right or goodness,
is the choice of my constitution; and that which I call heaven, and
inwardly aspire after, is the state or circumstance desirable to my
constitution; and the action which I in all my years tend to do, is the
work for my faculties. We must hold a man amenable to reason for the
choice of his daily craft or profession. It is not an excuse any longer
for his deeds that they are the custom of his trade. What business has
he with an evil trade? Has he not a calling in his character?

Each man has his own vocation. The talent is the call. There is one
direction in which all space is open to him. He has faculties silently
inviting him thither to endless exertion. He is like a ship in a river;
he runs against obstructions on every side but one, on that side all
obstruction is taken away and he sweeps serenely over a deepening
channel into an infinite sea. This talent and this call depend on his
organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarnates itself in
him. He inclines to do something which is easy to him and good when it
is done, but which no other man can do. He has no rival. For the more
truly he consults his own powers, the more difference will his work
exhibit from the work of any other. His ambition is exactly proportioned
to his powers. The height of the pinnacle is determined by the breadth
of the base. Every man has this call of the power to do somewhat unique,
and no man has any other call. The pretence that he has another call, a
summons by name and personal election and outward "signs that mark him
extraordinary, and not in the roll of common men," is fanaticism,
and betrays obtuseness to perceive that there is one mind in all the
individuals, and no respect of persons therein.

By doing his work he makes the need felt which he can supply, and
creates the taste by which he is enjoyed. By doing his own work he
unfolds himself. It is the vice of our public speaking that it has not
abandonment. Somewhere, not only every orator but every