full song from time to the silence of eternity. Sleep next to death is
the most terrible life that soul and body knows. It is the center of
the wheel radiating high powers to the circumference. The speed there
is terrific, so fast that it hardens, again that "majestic instancy."
The tiniest flame is the friction of conflicting "universes." Beauty
is alike the center and circumference of infinity, the silent wheel of
omnipresent omnipotence, wherein all thoughts are not timed but
eternal. From eternity we were nothing: to eternity we are Beauty's
image. Is it strange that in sleep we are often given sight?


August 1.

Art is the exhibition of life in the light of eternity. I can conceive
of no other adequate critical formula. This applies to painting,
sculpture, literature and music. Such too is the art of life,--the
exhibition to God and man of life in the light of eternity. I have
been startled to find a kinship between Wordsworth and Millet. I found
it today in a stooped old man who was traveling the roads with a
walking stick and a heavy bundle of driftwood. He was worthy of a
great painter or a great poet. By the sign of the cross one draws a
magic circle round the soul which evil may not penetrate. It places
one "in the name." On the seashore one should lie parallel with the
waves facing inland. Then only may one advance onward with their
prayer.


August 2.

It is absolutely true that only music may shape woods and fountains