His Kaffer; why
should the sun hurt him?
In the evening, when the clouds lift themselves like gates, and the red
lights shine through them, we cry; for in such glory He will come, and the
hands that ache to touch Him will hold him, and we shall see the beautiful
hair and eyes of our God. "Lift up your heads, O, ye gates; and be ye
lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and our King of glory shall come in!"
The purple flowers, the little purple flowers, are His eyes, looking at us.
We kiss them, and kneel alone on the flat, rejoicing over them. And the
wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for Him, and the desert
shall rejoice and blossom as a rose.
If ever, in our tearful, joyful ecstasy, the poor, sleepy, half-dead devil
should raise his head, we laugh at him. It is not his hour now.
"If there should be a hell, after all!" he mutters. "If your God should be
cruel! If there should be no God! If you should find out it is all
imagination! If--"
We laugh at him. When a man sits in the warm sunshine, do you ask him for
proof of it? He feels--that is all. And we feel--that is all. We want no
proof of our God. We feel, we feel!
We do not believe in our God because the Bible tells us of Him. We believe
in the Bible because He tells us of it. We feel Him, we feel Him, we feel-
-that is all! And the poor, half-swamped devil mutters:
"But if the day should come when you do not feel?"
And we laugh and cry him down.
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