Even the hatred of spirits is grounded in
thirst for love; and no enmity springs up, except from friendship
denied.
Mine eye discerns this eternal life and motion, in all the veins of
sensuous and spiritual Nature, through what seems to others a dead
mass. And it sees this life forever ascend, and grow, and transfigure
itself into a more spiritual expression of its own nature. The
universe is no longer, to me, that circle which returns into itself,
that game which repeats itself without ceasing, that monster which
devours itself in order to reproduce itself as it was before. It is
spiritualized to my contemplation, and bears the peculiar impress of
the spirit--continual progress toward perfection, in a straight line
which stretches into infinity.
The sun rises and sets, the stars vanish and return again, and all the
spheres hold their cycle-dance. But they never return precisely such
as they disappeared; and in the shining fountains of life there is
also life and progress. Every hour which they bring, every morning and
every evening, sinks down with new blessings on the world. New life
and new love drop from the spheres, as dew-drops from the cloud, and
embrace Nature, as the cool night embraces the earth.
All death in Nature is birth; and precisely in dying the sublimation
of life appears most conspicuous. There is no death-bringing principle
in Nature, for Nature is only life, throughout.
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