But little did the infant dream That all the treasures of the world were by: And that himself was so the cream And crown of all which round about did lie. Yet thus it was: the Gem, The Diadem, The Ring enclosing all That stood upon this earthly ball, The Heavenly Eye, Much wider than the sky, Wherein they all included were, The glorious Soul, that was the King Made to possess them, did appear A small and little thing! And then comes the noble sentence of which I promised you that it should fall into its place: You never enjoy the world aright till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and crowned with the stars. Man in short--you, I, any one of us--the heir of it all! _Tot circa unum caput tumultuantes deos!_ Our best privilege to sing our short lives out in tune with the heavenly concert--and if to sing afterwards, then afterwards! IV But how shall Man ever attain to understand and find his proper place in this Universe, this great sweeping harmonious circle of which nevertheless he feels himself to be the diminutive focus? His senses are absurdly imperfect. His ear cannot catch any music the spheres make; and moreover there are probably neither spheres nor music. His eye is so dull an instrument that (as Blanco White's famous sonnet reminds us) he can neither see this world in the dark, nor glimpse any of the scores of others until it falls dark: If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? Yet the Universal Harmony is meaningless and nothing to man save in so far as _he_ apprehends it: and lacking him (so far as he knows) it utterly lacks the compliment of an audience. Is all the great orchestra designed for nothing but to please its Conductor? Yes, if you choose: but no, as I think. And here my other quotation: That all spirit is mutually attractive, as all matter is mutually attractive, is an ultimate fact.... Spirit to spirit-- as in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man. Yes and, all spirit being mutually attractive, far more than this! I preach to you that, through help of eyes that are dim, of ears that are dull, by instinct of something yet undefined--call it soul--it wants no less a name--Man has a native impulse and attraction and yearning to merge himself in that harmony and be one with it: a spirit of adoption (as St Paul says) whereby we cry _Abba, Father!_ And because ye are Sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying _Abba, Father._