She
belonged to another world from his, a world which his world
worshiped, waiting. He might miss her even to death; her absence
might, for him, darken the universe as if the sun had withdrawn
his brightness; but who thinks of falling in love with the sun,
or dreams of climbing nearer to his radiance?
The day will one day come--or what of the long-promised kingdom
of heaven?--when a woman, instead of spending anxious thought on
the adornment of her own outward person, will seek with might the
adornment of the inward soul of another, and will make that her
crown of rejoicing. Nay, are there none such even now? The day
will come when a man, rather than build a great house for the
overflow of a mighty hospitality, will give himself, in the
personal labor of outgoing love, to build spiritual houses like
St. Paul--a higher art than any of man's invention. O my brother,
what were it not for thee to have a hand in making thy brother
beautiful!
Be not indignant, my reader: not for a moment did I imagine thee
capable of such a mean calling! It is left to a certain school of
weak enthusiasts, who believe that such growth, such
embellishment, such creation, is all God cares about; these
enthusiasts can not indeed see, so blind have they become with
their fixed idea, how God could care for anything else. They
actually believe that the very Son of the life-making God lived
and died for that, and for nothing else.
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