Seeking Heaven Through Righteousness Is Not Seeking

In The Isolation Of His Clear, Cold Intellect, The Sceptic Abides In A Glacial And Spectral Universe. No Glow From The Affections Lights Up The Frost And Shadow Of The Grave. He Feels No Prophecy In The Thrill Of The Human Heart-in The Incompleteness Of Nature. He Believes Merely In Things Tangible, And Sees Only In The Daytime. He Will Not Confess The Authenticity Of That Paler Light Of Faith Which Was Meant To Shine When The Sunshine Of Reason Falls Short, And The Firmament Of Mystery Is Over Our Heads.

It Is As Bad To Clip Conscience As To Clip Coin; It Is As Bad To Give A Counterfeit Statement As A Counterfeit Bill.

It Is The Veiled Angel Of Sorrow Who Plucks Away One Thing And Another That Bound Us Here In Ease And Security, And, In The Vanishing Of These Dear Objects, Indicates The True Home Of Our Affections And Our Peace.

Death, Is Not An End, But A Transition Crisis. All The Forms Of Decay Are But Masks Of Regeneration--the Secret Alembics Of Vitality.

The Church-bells Of Innumerable Sects Are All Chime-bells To-day, Ringing In Sweet Accordance Throughout Many Lands, And Awaking A Great Joy In The Heart Of Our Common Humanity.