There is nothing our eyes behold that is too
small to deserve our love; and there where we cannot love, we have
only to raise our lamp till it reaches the level of love, and then
throw its light around. Let only one ray of this light go forth
every day from our soul, we may then be content. It matters not
where the light falls. There is not a thing in this world whereupon
your glance or your thought can rest but contains within it more
treasure than either of these can fathom; nor is there a thing so
small but it has a vastness within that the light that a soul can
spare can, at best, but faintly illumine.
86. Is not the very essence of human destiny, stripped of the
details that bewilder us, to be found in the most ordinary lives?
The mighty struggle of morality on the heights is glorious to
witness; but so will a keen observer profoundly admire a magnificent
tree that stands alone in a desert, and, his contemplation over,
once more go back to the forest, where there are no marvellous
trees, but trees in countless abundance. The immense forest is
doubtless made up of ordinary branches and stems; but is it not
vast, is it not as it should be, seeing that it is the forest? Not
by the exceptional shall the last word ever be spoken; and indeed
what we call the sublime should be only a clearer, profounder
insight into all that is perfectly normal.
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