Thus does religion become a
weariness from the outset.
How slowly, and after what strange experience, by what infinite
delay of deduction, does the love of God dawn upon the soul! Even
then how faint and subtle an essence it is! In deep anxiety, under
unbearable strain, in the grip of a dilemma of which either issue
seems intolerable, in weariness of life, in hours of flagging
vitality, the mighty tide begins to flow strongly and tranquilly
into the soul. One did not make oneself; one did not make one's
sorrows, even when they arose from one's own weakness and
perversity. There was a meaning, a significance about it all; one
was indeed on pilgrimage; and then comes the running to the
Father's knee, and the casting oneself in utter broken weakness
upon the one Heart that understands perfectly and utterly, and
which does, which must, desire the best and truest. "Give me
courage, hope, confidence," says the desolate soul.
"I can endure Thy bitterest decrees,
If CERTAIN of Thy Love."
How would one amend all this if one had the power? Alas! it could
only be by silencing all stupid and clumsy people, all rigid
parents, all diplomatic priests, all the horrible natures who lick
their lips with a fierce zest over the pains that befall the men
with whom they do not agree.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387