, with
calculations, with steel and fire. More and more knowledge, ever more
striving to understand all things, to know all, to master all. But
meanwhile, the tones of the hymn died within you, and the hunger for
that which lies beyond all things grew ever fiercer and fiercer. You
thought it was Norway that you needed--and now you are here. But is it
enough?

Merle--is your name Merle?

There is nothing that can be likened to the first day of love. All your
learning, your travel, and deeds and dreams--all has been nothing but
dry firewood that you have dragged and heaped together. And now has come
a spark, and the whole heap blazes up, casting its red glow over earth
and heaven, and you stretch out your cold hands, and warm them, and
shiver with joy that a new bliss has come upon the earth.

And all that you could not understand--the relation between the spark
of eternity in your soul and the Power above, and the whole of endless
space--has all of a sudden become so clear that you lie here trembling
with joy at seeing to the very bottom of the infinite enigma.

You have but to take her by the hand, and "Here are we two," you say to
the powers of life and death. "Here is she and here am I--we two"--and
you send the anthem rolling aloft--a strain from little Louise's
fiddle-bow mingling with it--not to the vaultings of any church, but
into endless space itself. And Thou, Power above, now I understand Thee.
How could I ever take seriously a Power that sat on high playing with
Sin and Grace--but now I see Thee, not the bloodthirsty Jehovah, but a
golden-haired youth, the Light itself. We two worship Thee; not with a
wail of prayer, but with a great anthem, that has the World-All in it.
All our powers, our knowledge, our dreams--all are there. And each
has its own instrument, its own voice in the mighty chorus. The dawn
reddening over the hills is with us. The goat grazing on that northern
hillside, dazzled with sun-gold when it turns its head to the east--it
is with us, too. The waking birds are with us. A frog, crawling up out
of a puddle and stopping to wonder at the morning--it is there. Even the
little insect with diamonds on its wings--and the grass-blade with
its pearl of dew, trying to mirror as much of the sky as it can--it is
there, it is there, it is there. We are standing amid Love's first day,
and there is no more talk of grace or doubt or faith or need of aid;
only a rushing sound of music rising to heaven