and he was
comforted. All good things are included in religion, and all great
things. If men become martyrs, they become at the same time
functionaries in the palace of every worthy spirit. I suppose the
hunger for discovery and knowledge are nothing other than the soul's
hunger after God. He is the secret of great discontent. The soul
wants God, and on the way to Him are astronomies, and literatures, and
new-found hemispheres. Aspiration finds voice in Christianity.
"Columbus," a poem of resonant music, speaks aspiration. Him--

"Who pushed his prows into the setting sun,
And made West East, and sailed the dragon's mouth,
And came upon the mountain of the world,
And saw the rivers roll from paradise,"--

him, God-inspired as himself holds, saying:

"And more than once, in days
Of doubt and cloud and storm, when drowning hope
Sank all but out of sight, I heard His voice:
Be not cast down. I lead thee by the hand;
Fear not,--and I shall hear his voice again--
I know that He has led me all my life,
And I am not yet too old to work His will--
His voice again."

And King Arthur finds God helps him into all things worth while.
Bravery, determination, kindness, purity, magnanimity, safe faith in
God's supremacy,--all spring about him as he walks as flowers about a
path in summer-time. Nothing good was foreign to him.

Christianity is the one philosophy of manhood in whose harness are no
vulnerable parts. "The Palace of Art" presents the poet's perception
of the failure of culture. Ethics, not aesthetics, compel manhood; and
behind ethics, theology. God must live in life, if life shall put on
goodness as a royal robe.

And such a man as Arthur has passed into the enduring substance of this
world's best thought and purpose. We see him--not saw him. He is
never past, but ever present. We see him dying, and with Sir Bedivere,
who loved him, cry,

"Thy name and glory cling
To all high places, like a golden cloud,
Forever!"

X

The Story of the Pictures

A man and a woman were dreaming. Both were young; and one was strong
and one was fair. They were lovers, and the world was very beautiful,
and life as rhythmic as a poet's verse. Things which to some seem
remote as heaven, to youth and love seem near enough to touch, if one
do but stretch out the hand. This youth and maid were dreaming, and
their hands were clasped, and sometimes they looked in