If life has its own natural gladness which is expressed by spring, it has also its own natural sadness which is expressed by winter; and the worth of life, if this is all we trust to, will be as various and as changing as the weather is.

But this is not all.

Even this worth, such as it is, depends for us at present, in a large measure, upon religion--not directly indeed, but indirectly.

This life of air, and nerve, and muscle, this buoyant consciousness of joyous and abounding health, which seems so little to have connection with faiths or theories, is for us impregnated with a life that is impregnated with these, and thus their subtle influence pervades it everywhere.

There is no impulse from without which stirs or excites the senses, that does not either bring to us, or send us on to, a something beyond itself.