I am persuaded that one great source of this kindling, vitalizing power--I suppose _the_ great source--is the grasp laid upon the present, the fearless and comprehensive dealing with reality. Hitherto the leaders of thought have (except in science) been men with their faces resolutely turned backwards; men who have made of the past a tyrant that beggars and scorns the present, hardly seeing any greatness but what is shrouded away in the twilight, underground past; naming the present only for disparaging comparisons, humiliating distrust that tends to create the very barrenness it complains of; bidding me warm myself at fires that went out to mortal eyes centuries ago; insisting, in religion above all, that I must either "look through dead men's eyes," or shut my own in helpless darkness. Poets fancying themselves so happy over the chill and faded beauty of the past, but not making me happy at all,--rebellious always at being dragged down out of the free air and sunshine of to-day. But this poet, this "athlete, full of rich words, full of joy," takes you by the hand, and turns you with your face straight forwards. The present is great enough for him, because he is great enough for it. It flows through him as a "vast oceanic tide," lifting up a mighty voice. Earth, "the eloquent, dumb, great mother," is not old, has lost none of her fresh charms, none of her divine meanings; still bears great sons and daughters, if only they would possess themselves and accept their birthright,--a richer, not a poorer, heritage than was ever provided before,--richer by all the toil and suffering of the generations that have preceded, and by the further unfolding of the eternal purposes. Here is one come at last who can show them how; whose songs are the breath of a glad, strong, beautiful life, nourished sufficingly, kindled to unsurpassed intensity and greatness by the gifts of the present. "Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy." "O the joy of my soul leaning poised on itself,--receiving identity through materials, and loving them,--observing characters, and absorbing them! O my soul vibrated back to me from them! "O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides! The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds, the moist, fresh stillness of the woods, The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the forenoon. "O to realize space! The plenteousness of all--that there are no bounds; To emerge, and be of the sky--of the sun and moon and the flying clouds, as one with them. "O the joy of suffering,-- To struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted, To be entirely alone with them--to find how much one can stand!"