at in the Divine Light is and from the Divine Light, has neither
spiritual pride nor careless license nor an independent spirit--but a
great humility, and a broken and contrite heart,--and all propriety and
honesty, justice and truth, peace and happiness,--all that belongs to
all virtues, it must have. When it is otherwise, then he is not happy,
as has been said. When this does not help to this union, then there is
nothing which may hinder it but man alone with his own will, which does
him such great harm. That, one ought to know."

"This is sufficient," said she; "I believe we understand each other
now. In another place, our unknown friend says still more unmistakably
that no man is passive before death, and that the glorified man is like
the hand of God, which does nothing of itself except as God wills; or,
like a house in which God dwells. A God-possessed man feels this
perfectly, but does not speak of it. He treasures his life in God like
a love secret. It often seems to me like that silver poplar before my
window. It is perfectly still at evening, and not a leaf trembles or
stirs. When the morning breeze rustles and tosses every leaf, the
trunk with its branches stands still and immovable, and when autumn
conies, though every leaf which once rustled falls to the ground and
withers, the trunk waits for a new spring."

She had lived so deep a life in her world that I did not wish to
disturb it. I had but just released myself with difficulty from the
magic circle of these thoughts, and scarcely knew whether she had not
chosen the better part which could not be taken away from her; while we
have so much trouble and care.

Thus every evening brought its new conversation, and with each evening,
some new phase of her fathomless mind disclosed itself. She kept no
secret from me. Her talk was only thinking and feeling aloud, and what
she said must have dwelt with her many long years, for she poured out
her thoughts as freely as a child that picks its lap full of flowers
and then sprinkles them upon the grass. I could not disclose my soul
to her as freely as she did to me, and this oppressed and pained me.
Yet how few can, with those continual deceptions imposed upon us by
society, called manners, politeness, consideration, prudence, and
worldly wisdom, which make our entire life a masquerade! How few, even
when they would, can regain the complete truth of their existence!
Love itself dares not speak its own