days of gestation obey the moon and can be reckoned by her; in the sweat
of his body he tills the ground, and by the seasons, summer and winter,
seedtime and harvest, his life while it lasts is regulated. But above
all he is the microcosm, the tiny percipient centre upon which the
immense cosmic circle focusses itself as the sun upon a
burning-glass--and he is not shrivelled up by the miracle! Other
creatures (he notes) share his sensations; but, so far as he can
discover, not his intelligence--or, if at all, in no degree worth
measuring. So far as he can detect, he is not only an actor in the grand
cosmic pageant, but the sole intelligent spectator. As a poor Welsh
parson, Thomas Traherne, wrote of the small town of his childhood:--

_The streets were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, their
clothes and gold and silver were mine, as much as their sparkling eyes,
their skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine, and so were the sun
and moon and stars; and all the world was mine, and I the only spectator
and enjoyer of it...._

_But little did the infant dream
That all the treasures of the world were by;
And that himself was so the cream
And crown of all which round about did lie.
Yet thus it was: the Gem,
The Diadem,
The ring enclosing all
That stood upon this earthly ball,
The heavenly Eye,
Much wider than the sky
Wherein they all included were,
The glorious soul that was the King,