quering and being conquered; rising into the speed necessary to smite the ear as sound or to hurt it with their piercing sharpness or their mad confusion; sinking again with distance out of the region of pure sound but still storming the body in every pulsating nerve. What wonder that we still feel the hubbub and the turmoil of these fighting currents! Only far, far away from all these, on mountains or prairie or desert do the quivering human nerves cease to feel and to respond to this tumult of vibration to which, though it is never lost, we are mercifully at last no longer attuned. Then come peace—and silence. With them, rest unto the soul.
Out on this sea of tranquillity the soul of the pondering man floated. The Spirit that brooded near seemed to smile upon him as if waiting for the conceptions it was breathing to his inner being to rise through his consciousness and clothe themselves with words.
"Joy it is, son that loves me, to come from the dust and restlessness of the lower world!
