to the music of the great waves, I do not for an instant
mistake the adoration of the almighty power manifested in these
works of God, for religion. You tell me to beware of mixing up
emotional or imaginative excitement with my devotion. And I think I
can truly answer that I do not do so. I told you that the cathedral
service was not prayer to me; nor do I ever confound a mere
emotional or imaginative enthusiasm, even when excited by the
highest of all objects of contemplation, with the daily and hourly
endeavor after righteousness--the humble trust, resignation,
obedience, and thankfulness, which I believe constitute the vital
part of religious faith. I humbly hope I keep the sacred ground of
my religion clear from whatever does not belong to the spirit of
its practice. As long as I can remember, I have endeavored to guard
against mistaking emotion for religion, and have even sometimes
been apprehensive lest the admiration I felt for certain passages
in the Psalms and the Hebrew prophets should make me forget the
more solemn and sacred purposes of the book of life, and the glad
tidings of our salvation. And though, when I look up as you did at
the worlds with which our midnight sky is studded, I feel inclined
to break out, "The heavens declare the glory of God," or, when I
stand upon the shore, can hardly refrain from crying aloud, "The
sea is His, and He made it," I do not in these moments of sublime
emotion forget that He is the God to whom all hearts be open; who,
from the moment I rise until I lie down to rest, witnesses my every
thought and feeling; to whom I look for support against the evil of
my own nature and the temptations which He allots me, who bestows
every blessing and inspires every good impulse, who will strengthen
me for every duty and trial: my Father, in whom I live and move and
have my being. I do not fear that my imagination will become
over-excited with thoughts such as these, but I often regret most
bitterly that my heart is not more deeply touched by them. Your
definition of the love of God seemed almost like a reproach to my
conscience. How miserably our practice halts behind our knowledge
of good, even when tried at the bar of our own lenient judgment,
and by our imperfect standard of right! how poorly does our life
answer