. It is like being
dumb with a heart full of love. We must find the word for it, and say
it together. Then we shall be perfectly joined in perfect joy. Come, my
dear lord, let us take the boy with us, and give thanks."

Hermas lifted the child in his arms, and turned with Athenais into the
depth of the garden. There was a dismantled shrine of some forgotten
fashion of worship half-hidden among the luxuriant flowers. A fallen
image lay beside it, face downward in the grass. They stood there, hand
in hand, the boy drowsily resting on his father's shoulder.

Silently the roseate light caressed the tall spires of the
cypress-trees; silently the shadows gathered at their feet; silently the
tranquil stars looked out from the deepening arch of heaven. The very
breath of being paused. It was the hour of culmination, the supreme
moment of felicity waiting for its crown. The tones of Hermas were clear
and low as he began, half-speaking and half-chanting, in the rhythm of
an ancient song:

"Fair is the world, the sea, the sky, the double kingdom of day and
night, in the glow of morning, in the shadow of evening, and under the
dripping light of stars.

"Fairer still is life in our breasts, with its manifold music and
meaning, with its wonder of seeing and hearing and feeling and knowing
and being.

"Fairer and still more fair is love, that draws us together, mingles our
lives in its flow, and bears them along like a river, strong and clear
and swift, reflecting the stars in its bosom.

"Wide is our world; we are rich; we have all things. Life is abundant
within us--a measureless deep. Deepest of all is our love, and it longs
to speak.

"Come, thou final word; Come, thou crown of speech! Come, thou charm of
peace! Open the gates of our hearts. Lift the weight of our joy and bear
it upward.

"For all good gifts, for all perfect gifts, for love, for life, for the
world, we praise, we bless, we thank--"

As a soaring bird, struck by an arrow, falls headlong from the sky, so
the song of Hermas fell. At the end of his flight of gratitude there was
nothing--a blank, a hollow space.

He looked for a face, and saw a void. He sought for a hand, and clasped
vacancy. His heart was throbbing and swelling with passion; the bell
swung to and fro within him, beating from side to side as if it would
burst; but not a single note came from it. All the fulness of his
feeling, that had risen upward like a fountain, fell back from the e