This imagination itself, like all our intellectual faculties, is perhaps only a simple degree of infinite powers; and the images that it presents are but an imperfect sketch of universal existence. What then becomes of our earth, in the midst of that immensity which the human mind vainly tries to grasp? What is it even now, compared with that number of terrestrial bodies we can calculate or suppose? Is it then the inhabitants of this grain of sand, is it only a few of them, that have discovered the true mode of worshipping the Creator of so many wonders? Their dwelling is a point in infinite space; the life which they enjoy is but one of the moments which compose eternity; they pass away like a flash of lightning in that course of ages, in which generations after generations are lost. How then dare any of them announce to the present age, and to those to come, that men cannot escape the vengeance of Heaven if they alter one tittle of the Ritual? What an idea they give of the relation established between the God of the universe and the atoms dispersed throughout nature? Let them then raise one of the extremities of that veil which covers so many mysteries, let them consider a moment the wonders on every side, the starry firmament, and the inconceivably dreary immensity which their imagination cannot embrace; and let them judge, if it is by the exterior form of their adoration, the vain pomp of their ceremonies, that this Omnipotent God can distinguish their homage. Is it then, by the pride of our opinions, that we think to reach the Supreme Being? It is more comfortable, more reasonable to believe, that all the inhabitants of the earth have access to His throne, and that we are permitted to raise ourselves to it by a profound sentiment of love and gratitude, as the most sure and intimate relation between man and his Creator.