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- divine; and things divine endure forever.”
“But how enlarge your bounds? how convert the vicious, without
persuasion of some special seers? Must your religion go hand in hand
with all things secular?”
“We hold not, that one man’s words should be a gospel to the rest; but
that Alma’s words should be a gospel to us all. And not by precepts
would we have some few endeavor to persuade; but all, by practice, fix
convictions, that the life we lead is the life for all. We are
apostles, every one. Where’er we go, our faith we carry in our hands,
and hearts. It is our chiefest joy. We do not put it wide away six days
out of seven; and then, assume it. In it we all exult, and joy; as that
which makes us happy here; as that, without which, we could be happy
nowhere; as something meant for this time present, and henceforth for
aye. It is our vital mode of being; not an incident. And when we die,
this faith shall be our pillow; and when we rise, our staff; and at the
end, our crown. For we are all immortal. Here, Alma joins with our own
hearts, confirming nature’s promptings.”
“How eloquent he is!” murmured Babbalanja. “Some black cloud seems
floating from me. I begin to see. I come out in light. The sharp fang
tears me less. The forked flames wane. My soul sets back like ocean
streams, that sudden change their flow. Have I been sane? Quickened in
me is a hope. But pray you, old man—say on—methinks, that in your faith
must be much that jars with reason.”
“No, brother! Right-reason, and Alma, are the same; else Alma, not
reason, would we reject. The Master’s great command is Love; and here
do all things wise, and all things good, unite. Love is all in all. The
more we love, the more we know; and so reversed. Oro we love; this
isle; and our wide arms embrace all Mardi like its reef. How can we
err, thus feeling? We hear loved Alma’s pleading, prompting voice, in
every breeze, in every leaf; we see his earnest eye in every star and
flower.”
“Poetry!” cried Yoomy; “and poetry is truth! He stirs me.”
“When Alma dwelt in Mardi, ’twas with the poor and friendless. He fed
the famishing; he healed the sick; he bound up wounds. For every
precept that he spoke, he did ten thousand mercies. And Alma is our
loved example.”
“Sure, all this is in the histories!” said Mohi, starting.
“But not alone to poor and friendless, did Alma wend his charitable
way. From lowly places, he looked up; and long invoked great chieftains
in their state; and told them all their pride was vanity; and bade them
ask their souls. ‘In _me_,’ he cried, ‘is that heart of mild content,
which in vain ye seek in rank and title. I am Love: love ye then me.’”
“Cease, cease, old man!” cried Media; “thou movest me beyond my
seeming. What thoughts are these? Have done! Wouldst thou unking me?”
“Alma is for all; for high and low. Like heaven’s own breeze, he lifts
the lily from its lowly stem, and sweeps, reviving, through the palmy
groves. High thoughts he gives the sage, and humble trust the simple.
Be the measure what it may, his grace doth fill it to the brim. He lays
the lashings of the soul’s wild aspirations after things unseen; oil he
poureth on the waters; and stars come out of night’s black concave at
his great command. In him is hope for all; for all, unbounded joys.
Fast locked in his loved clasp, no doubts dismay. He opes the eye of
faith and shuts the eye of fear. He is all we pray for, and beyond;
all, that in the wildest hour of ecstasy, rapt fancy paints in bright
Auroras upon the soul’s wide, boundless Orient!”
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