red, but these simple lives have
ever the self-same gestures; and it is these unchanging gestures that
tell of the altered sky. A great deed of heroism fascinates us; our eye
cannot travel beyond the act itself; but insignificant thoughts and
deeds lead us on to the horizon beyond them; and is not the shining
star of human wisdom always situate on the horizon? If we could see
these things as nature sees them, with her thoughts and feelings, we
should realise that the uniform mediocrity that runs through these
lives cannot truly be mediocre, from the mere fact of its uniformity.
And indeed this matters but little; we can never judge another soul
above the high-water mark of our own; and however insignificant a
creature may seem to us at first, as our own soul emerges from shadow,
so does the shadow lift from him. There is nothing our eyes behold that
is too small to deserve our love; and there where we cannot love, we
have only to raise our lamp till it reaches the level of love, and then
throw its light around. Let only one ray of this light go forth every
day from our soul, we may then be content. It matters not where the
light falls. There is not a thing in this world whereupon your glance
or your thought can rest but contains within it more treasure than
either of these can fathom; nor is there a thing so small but it has a
vastness within that the light that a soul can spare can, at best, but
faintly illumine.

86. Is not the very essence of human destiny, stripped of the details
that bewilder us, to be found in the most ordinary lives? The mighty
struggle of morality on the heights is glorious to witness; but so will
a keen observer profoundly admire a magnificent tree that stands alone
in a desert, and, his contemplation over, once more go back to the
forest, where there are no marvellous trees, but trees in countless
abundance. The immense forest is doubtless made up of ordinary branches
and stems; but is it not vast, is it not as it should be, seeing that
it is the forest? Not by the exceptional shall the last word ever be
spoken; and indeed what we call the sublime should be only a clearer,
profounder insight into all that is perfectly normal. It is of service,
often, to watch those on the peaks who do battle; but it is well, too,
not to forget those in the valley below, who fight not at all. As we
see all that happens to these whose life knows no struggle; as we
realise how much must be conquered in us before