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those know who have felt it。
And we； on that moonlight night； put down our head on the window； 〃Oh； God！
we are happy； happy； thy child forever。 Oh； thank you； God！〃 and we drop
asleep。
Next morning the Bible we kiss。 We are God's forever。 We go out to work；
and it goes happily all day； happily all night； but hardly so happily； not
happily at all； the next day； and the next night the devil asks us； 〃where
is your Holy Spirit？〃
We cannot tell。
So month by month； summer and winter； the old life goes onreading；
praying； weeping； praying。 They tell us we become utterly stupid。 We know
it。 Even the multiplication table we learnt with so much care we forgot。
The physical world recedes further and further from us。 Truly we love not
the world； neither the things that are in it。 Across the bounds of sleep
our grief follows us。 When we wake in the night we are sitting up in bed
weeping bitterly； or find ourself outside in the moonlight； dressed； and
walking up and down； and wringing our hands； and we cannot tell how we came
there。 So pass two years； as men reckon them。
V。
Then a new time。
Before us there were three courses possibleto go mad； to die； to sleep。
We take the latter course； or nature takes it for us。
All things take rest in sleep； the beasts； birds； the very flowers close
their eyes； and the streams are still in winter； all things take rest； then
why not the human reason also？ So the questioning devil in us drops
asleep； and in that sleep a beautiful dream rises for us。 Though you hear
all the dreams of men； you will hardly find a prettier one than ours。 It
ran so：
In the centre of all things is a mighty Heart； which； having begotten all
things； loves them； and； having born them into life； beats with great
throbs of love towards them。 No death for His dear insects； no hell for
His dear men； no burning up for His dear worldHis own； own world that he
has made。 In the end all will be beautiful。 Do not ask us how we make our
dream tally with facts； the glory of a dream is thisthat it despises
facts； and makes its own。 Our dream saves us from going mad； that is
enough。
Its peculiar point of sweetness lay here。 When the Mighty Heart's yearning
of love became too great for other expression； it shaped itself into the
sweet Rose of heaven； the beloved Man…god。
Jesus！ you Jesus of our dream！ how we loved you； no Bible tells of you as
we knew you。 Your sweet hands held ours fast； your sweet voice said
always； 〃I am here； my loved one； not far off； put your arms about me； and
hold fast。〃
We find Him in everything in those days。 When the little weary lamb we
drive home drags its feet； we seize on it； and carry it with its head
against our face。 His little lamb！ We feel we have got Him。
When the drunken Kaffer lies by the road in the sun we draw his blanket
over his head； and put green branches of milk…bush on it。 His Kaffer； why
should the sun hurt him？
In the evening； when the clouds lift themselves like gates； and the red
lights shine through them； we cry； for in such glory He will come； and the
hands that ache to touch Him will hold him； and we shall see the beautiful
hair and eyes of our God。 〃Lift up your heads； O； ye gates； and be ye
lifted up； ye everlasting doors； and our King of glory shall come in！〃
The purple flowers； the little purple flowers； are His eyes； looking at us。
We kiss them； and kneel alone on the flat； rejoicing over them。 And the
wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for Him； and the desert
shall rejoice and blossom as a rose。
If ever； in our tearful； joyful ecstasy； the poor； sleepy； half…dead devil
should raise his head； we laugh at him。 It is not his hour now。
〃If there should be a hell； after all！〃 he mutters。 〃If your God should be
cruel！ If there should be no God！ If you should find out it is all
imagination！ If〃
We laugh at him。 When a man sits in the warm sunshine； do you ask him for
proof of it？ He feelsthat is all。 And we feelthat is all。 We want no
proof of our God。 We feel； we feel！
We do not believe in our God because the Bible tells us of Him。 We believe
in the Bible because He tells us of it。 We feel Him； we feel Him； we feel…
…that is all！ And the poor； half…swamped devil mutters：
〃But if the day should come when you do not feel？〃
And we laugh and cry him down。
〃It will never comenever；〃 and the poor devil slinks to sleep again； with
his tail between his legs。 Fierce assertion many times repeated is hard to
stand against； only time separates the truth from the lie。 So we dream on。
One day we go with our father to town； to church。 The townspeople rustle
in their silks； and the men in their sleek cloth； and settle themselves in
their pews； and the light shines in through the windows on the artificial
flowers in the women's bonnets。 We have the same miserable feeling that we
have in a shop where all the clerks are very smart。 We wish our father
hadn't brought us to town； and we were out on the karoo。 Then the man in
the pulpit begins to preach。 His text is 〃He that believeth not shall be
damned。〃
The day before the magistrate's clerk； who was an atheist； has died in the
street struck by lightning。
The man in the pulpit mentions no name； but he talks of 〃The hand of God
made visible amongst us。〃 He tells us how； when the white stroke fell；
quivering and naked； the soul fled； robbed of his earthly filament； and lay
at the footstool of God； how over its head has been poured out the wrath of
the Mighty One； whose existence it has denied； and； quivering and
terrified； it has fled to the everlasting shade。
We； as we listen； half start up； every drop of blood in our body has rushed
to our head。 He lies！ he lies！ he lies！ That man in the pulpit lies！
Will no one stop him？ Have none of them hearddo none of them know； that
when the poor； dark soul shut its eyes on earth it opened them in the still
light of heaven？ that there is no wrath where God's face is？ that if one
could once creep to the footstool of God； there is everlasting peace there；
like the fresh stillness of the early morning？ While the atheist lay
wondering and afraid； God bent down and said： 〃My child； here I amI；
whom you have not known； I； whom you have not believed in； I am here。 I
sent My messenger； the white sheet…lightning； to call you home。 I am
here。〃
Then the poor soul turned to the lightits weakness and pain were gone
forever。
Have they not known； have they not heard； who it is rules？
〃For a little moment have I hidden my face from thee； but with everlasting
kindness will I have mercy upon thee； saith the Lord thy Redeemer。〃
We mutter on to ourselves； till some one pulls us violently by the arm to
remind us we are in church。 We see nothing but our own ideas。
Presently every one turns to pray。 There are six hundred souls lifting
themselves to the Everlasting light。
Behind us sit two pretty ladies； one hands her scent…bottle softly to the
other； and a mother pulls down her little girl's frock。 One lady drops her
handkerchief； a gentleman picks it up； she blushes。 The women in the choir
turn softly the leaves of their tune…books； to be ready when the praying is
done。 It is as though they thought more of the singing than the
Everlasting Father。 Oh； would it not be more worship of Him to sit alone
in the karoo and kiss one little purple flower that he had made？ Is it not
mockery？ Then the thought comes； 〃What doest thou here； Elijah？〃 We who
judge； what are we better than they？rather worse。 Is it any excuse to
say； 〃I am but a child and must come？〃 Does God allow any soul to step in
between the spirit he made and himself？ What do we there in that place；
where all the words are lies against the All Father？ Filled with horror；
we turn and flee out of the place。 On the pavement we smite our foot； and
swear in our child's soul never again to enter those places where men come
to sing and pray。 We are questioned afterward。 Why was it we went out of
the church。
How can we explain？we stand silent。 Then we are pressed further； and we
try to tell。 Then a head is shaken solemnly at us。 No one can think it
wrong to go to the house of the Lord； it is the idle excuse of a wicked
boy。 When will we think seriously of our souls； and love going to church？
We are wicked； very wicked。 And wewe slink away and go alone to cry。
Will it be always so？ Whether we hate and doubt； or whether we believe and
love； to our dearest； are we to seem always wicked？
We do not yet know that in the soul's search for truth the bitterness lies
here； the striving cannot always hide itself among the thoughts； sooner or
later it will clothe itself in outward action； then it steps in and divides
between the soul and what it loves。 All things on earth have their price；