..praise Him, O Earth, for He is He: and if He slay me, I will laugh
raillery at His Sword, and banter Him to His face: for His Sword is
sharp Mercy, and His poisons kill my death. Fear not, therefore, little
flock of Man! but take my comfort to your heart to-night, and my sweets
to your tongue: for though ye have sinned, and hardened yourselves as
brass, and gone far, far astray in these latter wildernesses, yet He is
infinitely greater than your sin, and will lead you back. Break not,
break not, poor broken heart of Earth: for from Him I run herald to thee
this night with the sweet and secret message, that of old He chose thee,
and once mixed conjugally with thee in an ancient sleep, O Afflicted:
and He is thou, and thou art He, flesh of His flesh, and bone of His
bone; and if thou perish utterly, it is that He has perished utterly,
too: for thou art He. Hope, therefore, most, and cheeriest smile, at
the very apsis and black nadir of Despair: for He is nimble as a weasel,
and He twists like Proteus, and His solstices and equinoxes, His tropics
and turning-points and recurrences are innate in Being, and when He
falls He falls like harlequin and shuttlecocks, shivering plumb to His
feet, and each third day, lo, He is risen again, and His defeats are but
the stepping-stones and rough scaffolding from which He builds His
Parthenons, and from the densest basalt gush His rills, and the last end
of this Earth shall be no poison-cloud, I say to you, but Carnival and
Harvest-home .
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