ilosophy of nature. Their music explains its sympathies and sorrows,
its deaths and resurrections, and above all its solemn silences of
night and noon. And the song of their weaving becomes nature's love of
wisdom, that is to say, adoration of the Word. The saints are the only
complete philosophers. The object of asceticism is generally
misunderstood, particularly in one phase of its endeavors,--to forget
the body. The truth of the matter is that the flesh and blood in their
highest song toward which we should strive are so occupied with
praising God that they completely lack self-consciousness, and do not
distract the intellect or the will. God is with them in naked purity.
It is His simplest and dearest starry music. He demands that our life
should be a programme of infinite proportions. And yet I wonder if a
saint can ever be both a great prophet and a great apostle. I do not
believe a great prophet can be tender enough to persuade. That is why
prophets are scorned or ignored by their generation. Gentleness is the
absolute breath of music, which alone can penetrate the soul or even
the material body of nature. The supreme gentleness of St. Francis of
Assisi made the birds listen to his music, for his breath ran dancing
in a cool breeze through all their singing stars. We need a St.
Francis at present burningly. Is it possible to form a religious order
of the poets? Here is an ideal. But it must be Franciscan: a gown, a
girdle, and sandals, poverty, chastity, and obedience. Where is the
wise man to obey? I can believe that jewels are potent for good or
evil, since they are condensed flame and a secret word lies hidden in
each of their hearts. A day of tempestuous wind and rain.

August 11.

Today I found myself progressing slowly to a triumphant rhythm round
the circumference of a vast musical plane. The celestial earth is flat
but progresses upwards to its central point, the cone of aspiration
and song. And then I remembered the vision of St. Frances of Rome
wherein she saw the Supreme Godhead as a vast Circle of Light in the
midst of which was a Pillar, the Cone of Redemption and Silence. Death
is the point of meeting. Perhaps the Zodiac is the merry-go-round of
the stars. A second day of tempest. The great message of future poetry
will be to proclaim that nature is the expression of man, rather than
man of nature, and thus to reveal the essential nobility of man as the
image of God rather than the image of natur