After a certain space of time--which may be days or weeks or months in
duration--through its secret chambers steals a thrill of sentient
emotion; it recognizes its own existence, and the dawn of that eternal
life for which it was created. Slowly one sight after another begins
faintly to glimmer before it, as objects emerge from the gloom of some
darkened cell to eyes that are becoming accustomed to the darkness.
Anon, low, faint murmurs of sound steal in upon it, far distant at
first, but gradually swelling as it approaches, till at last, around the
freed spirit peals the full orchestral glory of eternity. And so it goes
on, passing slowly from stage to stage, apprehending new sights, new
sounds, and comprehending new truths. And so it shall go on, through all
the cycles of eternity, constantly approaching nearer to the Godhead,
yet never to become God.
Do you ask me how can these things be? Let us draw an illustration from
nature. The science of acoustics tells us that an organ pipe of a
certain length gives forth the deepest, or as musicians would say, the
_lowest_ sound that art can produce; that all beyond this given length
is nothingness, and gives out no sound. What shall we say then? that
doubling the length of the tube destroys the vibration of the imprisoned
air? Nay, verily, the air still vibrates, sound is still produced, but
_the note is below the gamut of the natural ear_, which was created to
comprehend only sounds within a certain compass: its capacity goes no
farther, and any sound pitched either above or below that compass we
cannot perceive.
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