WHAT I LIVED FOR. 
97 
expected of that day, if it can he called a day, to which 
we are not awakened by our Genius, but by the mechani¬ 
cal nudgings of some servitor, are not awakened by our 
own newly-acquired force and aspirations from within, 
accompanied by the undulations of celestial music, in¬ 
stead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air — 
to a higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the 
darkness bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no 
less than the light. That man who does not believe 
that each day contains an earlier, more sacred, and au¬ 
roral hour than he has yet profaned, has despaired of 
life, and is pursuing a descending and darkening way. 
After a partial cessation of his sensuous life, the soul 
of man, or its organs rather, are reinvigorated each day, 
and his Genius tries again what noble life it can make. 
All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morn¬ 
ing time and in a morning atmosphere. The Ve¬ 
das say, “All intelligences awake with the morning.” 
Poetry and art, and the fairest and most memorable of 
the actions of men, date from such an hour. All poets 
and heroes, like Memnon, are the children of Aurora, 
and emit their music at sunrise. To him whose elastic 
and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day 
is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks 
say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is 
when I am awake and there is a dawn in me. Moral 
reform is the effort to throw off sleep. Why is it that 
men give so poor an account of their day if they have 
not been slumbering ? They are not such poor calcula¬ 
tors. If they had not been overcome with drowsiness 
they would have performed something. The millions 
are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a 
million is awake enough for effective intellectual exer- 
7 
