

74 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



fall to planning before the tremors of the fright 

 have ceased. Upon the crumbled, smoking heap of 

 San Francisco a second splendid city has arisen and 

 shall ever rise. Terror can kill the living, but it can- f 

 not hinder them from forgetting, or prevent them 

 from hoping, or, for more than an instant, stop 

 them from doing. Such is the law of life the law ] 

 of heaven, of my pastures, of the little junco, of my- 

 self. Life, Law, and Matter are all of one piece. 

 The horse in my stable, the robin, the toad, the/ 

 beetle, the vine in my garden, the garden itself, 

 arid I together with them all, come out of the same 

 divine dust; we all breathe the same divine breath ; 

 we have our beings under the same divine laws ; only 

 they do not know that the law, the breath, and the 

 dust are divine. If, with all that I know of fear, I 

 can so readily forget it, and can so constantly feel , 

 the hope and the joy of life within me, how soon for \ 

 them, my lowly fellow mortals, must vanish all sight 

 of fear, all memory of pain ! And how abiding with 

 them, how compelling, the necessity to live ! And 

 in their unquestioning obedience, what joy ! 



The face of the fields is as changeful as the face 

 of a child. Every passing wind, every shifting cloud, 

 every calling bird, every baying hound, every shape, \ 

 shadow, fragrance, sound, and tremor, are reflected j 

 there. But if time and experience and pain come, they ' 

 pass utterly away ; for the face of the fields does not 

 grow old or wise or seamed with pain. It is always the 



