One who has had them (when they do not bound him) may find the Isles of Bliss sooner than another.

Sensual faith in the upper glories is something.

"Let us remember," says The Pilgrim's Scrip, "that Nature, though heathenish, reaches at her best to the footstool of the Highest.

She is not all dust, but a living portion of the spheres.
In aspiration it is our error to despise her, forgetting that through Nature only can we ascend.

Cherished, trained, and purified, she is then partly worthy the divine mate who is to make her wholly so.