He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle,
and then falls flat and still in the bloody
foam.
25.O the old manhood of me, my joy!
My children and grand-children—my white hair and
beard.
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long
stretch of my life.
26.O the ripened joy of womanhood!
O perfect happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age—my hair, too, is
pure white—I am the most venerable mother;
How clear is my mind! how all people draw nigh to
me!
What attractions are these, beyond any before? what
bloom, more than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises
out of me?
27.O the joy of my Soul leaning poised on itself—receiving
identity through materials, and loving them
—observing characters, and absorbing them;
O my Soul, vibrated back to me, from them—from
facts, sight, hearing, touch, my phrenology,
reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and
the like;
O the real life of my senses and flesh, transcending
my senses and flesh;
O my body, done with materials—my sight, done
with my material eyes;
O what is proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it
is not my material eyes which finally see,
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