confess I have no rule or measure to judge the faith of any man.

"The past is always the state of infancy. The present is an eternal
youth, aspiring after manhood; hoping wistfully, intensely desiring,
listfully listening, dimly seeing the bright star of hope in the
future, beckoning him to move rapidly on, while his strong heart
beats with enthusiasm and glowing joy. The past is dead. Wish me not
the dead from the grave, for that would be death re-enacted. . . .

"Oh, were our wishes in harmony with heaven, how changed would be the
scenes of our life! . . . This accordance would be music which only
the angels now hear--too delicate for beings such as we are at
present. List! hast thou not heard in some bright moment a strain
from heaven's angelic choirs? Oh, yes! In our sleep the angels have
whispered such rich music, and the soul being then passive, we can
hear. And the pleasure does not leave us when passion and thought
take their accustomed course.

"O man! were thy soul more pure, what a world would open to thy inner
senses! There would be no moment of thy existence but would be filled
with the music of love. The prophet said: 'In that day my eyes were
opened.' And behold what he saw! He saw it. Could we but hear! The
word of the Lord is ever speaking--alas! where is one that can hear?
Where are our Isaiahs, our Ezekiels, our Jeremiahs? Oh! thou
shrunken-visaged, black, hollow-eyed doubt! hast thou passed like a
cloud over men's souls, making them blind, deaf and dumb? Ah, ha!
dost thou shudder? I chant thy requiem, and prophets, poets, and
seers shall rise again! I see them coming. Great heaven! Earth shall
be again a paradise, and God converse with men!"