There are times when the great Light is dim and beautiful as the starlight--the utter agony of it--the cruel, ineffable loveliness!
Do you understand this? I am telling you my young, passionate life-agony? Do you listen to it indifferently? Has it no meaning for any one? For me it means everything. For me it makes life old, long, weariness.
It may be that you know. And perhaps you would even weep a little with me if you had time.
It is as if this Light were the light of the Christian religion--and the Christian religion is full of hatred. It says, "Come unto me, you that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." But when you would go, when you reach up with your weary hands, it sends you a too-brilliant Light--it makes you fair, wondrous promises--it puts you off. You beseech it in your suffering--
"While the waters near me roll, While the tempest still is high--"
but it does not listen--it does not care. Worship me, worship me, it says, but after that let me alone. There is a bookful of promises. Take it and thank me and worship me.
If I obey it, it looks on indifferently. If I disobey it, it looks on indifferently. If I am in woe, it looks on indifferently. If I am in a brief joy, it looks on indifferently.
The Light is shown me and I reach after it, but it is placed high out of my reach.
I see the promises in the Light. Oh, why--_why_ does it promise these things! Is not the burden of life already greater than I can bear? And there is the story of the Christ. It is beautiful. It is damningly beautiful. It draws the tears of pain and soft anguish from me at the sense of beauty. And when every nerve in me is melted and overflowing, then suddenly I am conscious that it is a lie--a _lie_.
Everywhere I turn there is Nothing--Nothing.
My soul wails out its grief in loneliness.
My soul wanders hither and thither in the dark wilderness and asks, asks always in blind, dull agony, How long?--how long?
I stand in the midst of my sand and barrenness and gaze hard at everything that is within my range of vision--and ruin my eyes trying to see into the darkness beyond.
And nearly always I feel a vague contempt for you, fine, brave world--for you and all the things that I see from my barrenness. But I promise you, if some one comes from among you over the sunset hill one day with love for me, I will fall at your feet.