“A wee child toddling in
a wonder, I prefer to their dogma my excursions into the natural gardens, where
the voice of the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering of birds, the rippling
of mighty waters, and the sweet breathing of flowers. If this is Paganism, then
at present, I am Pagan.”
memories rose before me. I could almost hear the sound of the preacher's voice
as I sat, on still Sundays, way over there on the hillside; there was that
proffered temperance pledge I never signed; my grandfather's good natured
contempt of some church folk and their doings; his insistence that the spheres
really had their music; but his denial of the preacher's right to tell him how
he must listen; his fearlessness as he spoke of these things just before he
died; these recollections welled up from the past. They made me swallow hard.
Book pg. 10
then, with a better motive, had we not worshipfully beheld the sunset, the sea,
or a flower?
Book pg. 54
show us your spirit is in all things.