human
that no earthly storm could obscure; to make all life gloomy with a horror of despair, a darkness that verily may be felt. Nothing but an imperious intellectual and moral necessity can drive into doubt a religious mind, for it is as though an earthquake shook the foundations of the soul, and the very being quivers and sways under the shock. No life in the empty sky; no gleam in the blackness of the night; no voice to break the deadly silence; no hand outstretched to save. Empty-brained triflers who have never tried to think, who take their creed as they take their fashions, speak of Atheism as the outcome of foul life and vicious desires. In their shallow heartlessness and shallower thought they cannot even dimly imagine the anguish of entering the mere penumbra of the Eclipse of Faith, much less the horror of that great darkness in which the orphaned soul cries out into the infinite emptiness:
gpt
Is it a Devil that has made the world? Is the echo, 'Children, ye have no Father,' true? Is all blind chance, is all the clash of unconscious forces, or are we the sentient toys of an Almighty Power that sports with our agony, whose peals of awful mockery of laughter ring back answer to the wailings of our despair?
human
For some may follow Truth from dawn to dark, As a child follows by his mother's hand, Knowing no fear, rejoicing all the way; And unto some her face is as a Star Set through an avenue of thorns and fires, And waving branches black without a leaf; And still It draws them, though the feet must bleed, Though garments must be rent, and eyes be scorched: And if the valley of the shadow of death Be passed, and to the level road they come, Still with their faces to the polar star, It is not with the same looks, the same limbs, But halt, and maimed, and of infirmity. And for the rest of the way they have to go It is not day but night, and oftentimes A night of clouds wherein the stars are lost.