Eternity is with us, inviting our
contemplation perpetually, but we
are too frightened, lazy, and
suspicious to respond; too arrogant
to still our thought, and let divine
sensation have its way. It needs
industry and goodwill if we would
make that transition; for the process
involves a veritable spring-cleaning of
the soul, a turning-out and
rearrangement of our mental
furniture, a wide opening of closed
windows, that the notes of the wild
birds beyond our garden may come to
us fully charged with wonder and
freshness, and drown with their music
the noise of the gramophone within.
Those who do this, discover that they
have lived in a stuffy world, whilst
their inheritance was a world of
morning glory: where every *tiny
bird* is a celestial messenger, and
every thrusting bud is charged with
the full significance of life …read more