d loves with an intensity proportioned to the
perfection of the object presented. Now, as God himself, in This
unveiled majesty, is the object presented to the will, and as He is
the most perfect of all beings, it follows that the will loves, in
heaven, with an ardor, an intensity whereof we can form but a faint
conception in our present state of trial.

There, at last, do the blessed fulfil to perfection the law which
commands us to love God with our whole heart, with our whole soul,
with all our strength, with all our mind--and our neighbor as
ourselves. Not only does each one of the blessed love, but he sees
himself loved in return both by the Almighty and by every one of the
saints. This makes heaven a life of love, and consequently one of
perfect happiness.

Think of this, ye mortals, who crave after human love. You desire to
love and to be loved. Love is the sunshine of your lives. But, do
what you will, it can never give you perfect happiness here below;
for when you have, at last, succeeded in possessing the object after
which you so ardently sighed, you discover in it imperfections which
you had not suspected before; and these lessen your happiness. But
suppose, even, that you are of the few who are as happy as they
expected to be, how long will your blessedness last? A few years, at
most. Then, death, with a merciless hand, tears away from you the
objects of your love. Is not this the end of all earthly happiness?

Look up to heaven, and there see the blessed in the presence of God.
They are as happy to-day in their love as they were hundreds of years
ago; and when millions of ages have rolled by, they shall still
possess the object of their love, which is the Eternal God. Thus the
blessed live a life of love, and, consequently, one of perfect
happiness.

5. The life of heaven is, moreover, one of perfect enjoyment. In this
world, there can be no perfect and lasting enjoyment; and this not
only because creatures have not the power of giving perfect
happiness, but also because our powers of enjoyment are imperfect in
themselves, and because also our bosom swarms with ungoverned
passions, which spread the gall of bitterness over our joys. How many
thousands are there not, for whom fortune smiles in vain! How many
are there not, who, though surrounded with untold wealth, are
nevertheless more wretched than the tattered beggar! One, for
instance, is always suffering from bad health, and hence he cannot
enjoy