Great, great is this thought--aye, greater
than all else. When the gorgeous pageant of Art, refulgent in the
sunshine, color'd with roses and gold--with all the richest mere
poetry, old or new, (even Shakespere's) with all that statue, play,
painting, music, architecture, oratory, can effect, ceases to satisfy
and please--When the eager chase after wealth flags, and beauty itself
becomes a loathing--and when all worldly or carnal or esthetic,
or even scientific values, having done their office to the human
character, and minister'd their part to its development--then, if
not before, comes forward this over-arching thought, and brings its
eligibilities, germinations. Most neglected in life of all humanity's
attributes, easily cover'd with crust, deluded and abused, rejected,
yet the only certain source of what all are seeking, but few or none
finding it I for myself clearly see the first, the last, the deepest
depths and highest heights of art, of literature, and of the purposes
of life. I say whoever labors here, makes contributions here, or best
of all sets an incarnated example here, of life or death, is dearest
to humanity--remains after the rest are gone. And here, for these
purposes, and up to the light that was in him, the man Elias Hicks--as
the man George Fox had done years before him--lived long, and died,
faithful in life, and faithful in death.
GOOD-BYE MY FANCY
AN OLD MAN'S REJOINDER
In the domain of Literature loftily consider'd (an accomplish'd and
veteran critic in his just out work[44] now says,) 'the kingdom of the
Father has pass'd; the kingdom of the Son is passing; the kingdom of
the Spirit begins.
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