Seahaven of the world! The Centuries are big; and the birth-
hour is coming, not yet come. _Tempus ferax, tempus edax rerum._




Chapter VI

Monk Samson


Within doors, down at the hill-foot, in our Convent here, we are
a peculiar people,--hardly conceivable in the Arkwright Corn-Law
ages, of mere Spinning-Mills and Joe-Mantons! There is yet no
Methodism among us, and we speak much of Secularities: no
Methodism; our Religion is not yet a horrible restless Doubt,
still less a far horribler composed Cant; but a great heaven-
high Unquestionability, encompassing, interpenetrating the whole
of Life. Imperfect as we may be, we are here, with our litanies,
shaven crowns, vows of poverty, to testify incessantly and
indisputably to every heart, That this Earthly Life, and
its riches and possessions, and good and evil hap, are not
intrinsically a reality at all, but _are_ a shadow of realities
eternal, infinite; that this Time-world, as an air-image,
fearfully _emblematic,_ plays and flickers in the grand still
mirror of Eternity; and man's little Life has Duties that are
great, that are alone great, and go up to Heaven and down to
Hell. This, with our poor litanies, we testify and struggle
to testify.