First And Last, What Is Demanded Of

It Is Not Always Needful For Truth To Take A Definite Shape; It Is Enough If It Hovers About Us Like A Spirit And Produces Harmony; If It Is Wafted Through The Air Like The Sound Of A Bell, Grave And Kindly.

Everything Perfect In Its Kind Has To Transcend Its Own Kind, It Must Become Something Different And Incomparable. In Some Notes The Nightingale Is Still A Bird; Then It Rises Above Its Class And Seems To Suggest To Every Winged Creature What Singing Is Truly Like.

The Soul Is Indestructible And Its Activity Will Continue Through Eternity. It Is Like The Sun, Which, To Our Eyes, Seems To Set At Night; But It Has In Reality Only Gone To Diffuse Its Light Elsewhere.

Assuredly There Is No More Lovely Worship Of God Than That For Which No Image Is Required, But Which Springs Up In Our Breast Spontaneously When Nature Speaks To The Soul, And The Soul Speaks To Nature Face To Face.

Mere Curiosity Adds Wings To Every Step.