language easier for me to understand than the speech of most men.
These noises and these colors are only the gestures and expressions
of objects, just as the voice or the glance are among our means of
expression and gesture.

I felt that a brotherhood united me to these humble things, and I knew
it was childish to classify the kingdoms of nature when there is but
one kingdom of God.

* * * * *

Can we say that things never exhibit to us manifestations of their
sympathy? The tool grows rusty when it no longer serves the hand of
the workman, even as the workman when he abandons the tool.

I knew an old smith. He was gay in the time of his strength, and the
sky entered his dark smithy through the radiant noondays. The joyous
anvil answered the hammer. And the hammer was the heart of the anvil
beating with the heart of the craftsman. When night fell the smithy
was lighted by its single light, the glance of the eyes of the burning
coal which flamed under the leather bellows. A divine love united the
soul of this man to the soul of these things. And when on the Lord's
days the smith retired into pious contemplation, the forge which had
been cleaned the night before prayed also in silence.

The smith was my friend. At his dim threshold I often questioned him,
and the whole smithy always answered me. The sparks laughed in the
coal, and syllables of metal fashioned a mysterious and profound
language which moved me like the words of duty. And I experienced
there almost the same feelings as in the home of the humble cobbler.