Nearly they stood who fall.
Themselves, when they look back
see always in the track
One torturing spot where all
By a possible quick swerve
Of will yet unenslaved--
By the infinitesimal twitching of a nerve--
Might have been saved.
Nearly they fell who stand.
These with cold after-fear
Look back and note how near
They grazed the Siren's land
Wondering to think that fate
By threads so spidery-fine
The choice of ways so small, the event so great
Should thus entwine.
Therefore I sometimes fear
Lest oldest fears prove true
Lest, when no bugle blew
My mort, when skies looked clear
I may have stepped one hair's
Breadth past the hair-breadth bourn
Which, being once crossed forever unawares
Forbids return.
~C.S. Lewis, Poems, "Nearly They Stood" (1933)
A friend died last week, at age 50. Only God is his judge, but from here it looks like 25 years ago, when he showed great promise, he took a turn (a turn for which the flaws in his nature had prepared him) that sent his life into a spiral of failure and misery. Another friend, much admired, made a serious lapse. Both were better men than I. "Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." (1 Cor. 10:12.)
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