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partisan, nothing in a petty spirit of opinionativeness, but have
intended every thought for the furtherance of truth, the honor
of God, the good of man.

The majestic theme of our immortality allures yet baffles us.
No fleshly implement of logic or cunning tact of brain can reach
to the solution. That secret lies in a tissueless realm whereof no
nerve can report beforehand. We must wait a little.
Soon we
shall grope and guess no more, but grasp and know. Meanwhile,
shall we not be magnanimous to forgive and help, diligent to
study and achieve, trustful and content to abide the invisible
issue? In some happier age, when the human race shall have
forgotten, in philanthropic ministries and spiritual worship, the
bigotries and dissensions of sentiment and thought, they may
recover, in its all-embracing unity, that garment of truth which
God made originally "seamless as the firmament," now for so
long a time torn in shreds by hating schismatics. Oh, when shall
we learn that a loving pity, a filial faith, a patient modesty, best
become us and fit our state? The pedantic sciolist, prating of
his clear explanations of the mysteries of life, is as far from feeling
the truth of the case as an ape, seated on the starry summit of
the dome of night, chattering with glee over the awful prospect
of infinitude. What ordinary tongue shall dare to vociferate
egotistic dogmatisms where an inspired apostle whispers, with
reverential reserve, "We see through a glass darkly"? There
are three things, said an old monkish chronicler, which often
make me sad. First, that I know I must die; second, that I know
not when; third, that I am ignorant where I shall then be.

"Est primum durum quod scio me moriturum:
Secundum, timeo quia hoc nescio quando:

Hinc tertium, flebo quod nescio ubi manebo."

Man is the lonely and sublime Columbus of the creation,
who, wandering on this cloudy strand of time, sees drifted waifs
and strange portents borne far from an unknown somewhere,
causing him to believe in another world. Comes not death as a
means to bear him thither? Accordingly as hope rests in heaven,
fear shudders at hell, or doubt faces the dark transition, the future
life is a sweet reliance, a terrible certainty, or a pathetic perhaps.
But living in the present in the humble and loving discharge of
its duties, our souls harmonized with its conditions though aspiring
beyond them, why should we ever despair or be troubled over-
much? Have we not eternity in our thought, infinitude in our
view, and God for our guide?

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