The thought gives us intense satisfaction, we cannot tell why.
We nod over the gander; then start up suddenly, look into the blue sky, throw the dead gander and the refuse into the dam, and go to work again.
And so, it comes to pass in time, that the earth ceases for us to be a weltering chaos.

We walk in the great hall of life, looking up and round reverentially.

Nothing is despicable--all is meaning-full; nothing is small--all is part of a whole, whose beginning and end we know not.

The life that throbs in us is a beginning and end we know not.

The life that throbs in us is a pulsation from it; too mighty for our comprehension, not too small.
And so, it comes to pass at last, that whereas the sky was at first a small blue rag stretched out over us, and so low that our hands might touch it, pressing down on us, it raises itself into an immeasurable blue arch over our heads, and we begin to live again..