not yourself but greatly spend. And you who ask his help—how much you all can do! The world waits for you! a truth of religion, it will burn its way into history, not as thunder, to destroy, but as sunlight, to create and bless. The human author may be buzzed about in the whisperings of bigots and self-misguided men; rooks may caw and owls may hoot at him; the rats of the state may gnaw at his deeds, and the church's mice nibble at his feelings; nay, he may stand on the scaffold, be nailed to a cross—a thief on either hand—and mocking words be writ against his name; or he may mix his last prayer with the snapping of fagots. Resistance is all in vain: his soul, in its chariot of fire, goes up to the calm still heaven of holy men, and his word of truth burns in to the consciousness of the world, and where he went, bare and bleeding, with painful feet, shall mankind march to triumph and great joy!
It is amazing how much a single man may do for good. The transient touch of genius fertilizes the recipient soul. So in early autumn, the farmer goes forth afield, followed by his beast, bearing a few sacks of corn, and dragging an inverted harrow down the lane. All day long the farmer, the genius of the soil, scatters therein the seed, his horse harrowing the valleys after him; at night, he looks over the acres newly sown, the corn all smoothly covered in, puts up the bars behind him, speaks kindly words to his half-conscious fellow-labourer, "A good day's work well done, old friend!" and together they go home again, the beast with ears erect and quickened pace, as mindful of his well-deserved rack. For months the farmer sees it not again; but all the autumn long the seed is putting down its roots, and putting up its happy blade. All winter through it holds its own beneath the fostering snow. How green it is in spring! and while that genius of the soil has gone to other fields and pastures new, how the winds come and toss the growing wheat, and play at wave and billow in the green and fertile field! In the harvest time what a sea of golden grain has flowed from out that spring of seed he opened and let loose! So in the Christian mythology, Gabriel's transient salutation, "Hail, thou that art highly favoured amongst women," was in full time followed by a multitude of the heavenly host; singing "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will to men!"
