I have other eyes, and shall have yet
others. If I thought, as so many have degraded themselves to think, that
the glory of things in the morning of love was a glamour cast upon the
world, no outshine of indwelling radiance, should I care to breathe one
day more the air of this or of any world? Nay, nay, but there dwells in
everything the Father hath made, the fire of the burning bush, as at home
in his son dwelt the glory that, set free, broke out from him on the
mount of his transfiguration. The happy-making vision of things that
floods the gaze of the youth, when first he lives in the marvel of
loving, and being loved by, a woman, is the true vision--and the more
likely to be the true one, that, when he gives way to selfishness, he
loses faith in the vision, and sinks back into the commonplace unfaith of
the beggarly world--a disappointed, sneering worshipper of power and
money--with this remnant of the light yet in him, that he grumbles at the
gloom its departure has left behind. He confesses by his soreness that
the illusion ought to have been true; he seldom confesses that he loved
himself more than the woman, and so lost her. He lays the blame on God,
on the woman, on the soullessness of the universe--anywhere but on the
one being in which he is interested enough to be sure it exists--his own
precious, greedy, vulgar self. Would I dare to write of love, if I did
not believe it a true, that is, an eternal thing!
It was a summer of exceptional splendour in which my eyes were opened to
"the glory of the sum of things.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70