their beauty are always above it.


August 3.

To watch a grass-blade tapping will teach you wonderful music--the
language of the wind. The sunlight running through my flesh in-flames
the song of the will. I lost myself tonight in the crowded silences.
Joy stays with me now, and if I can only join it to sorrow, the will
can then sing simply and freely a continuous song. The turning of the
tide is soon to come, and my homesickness for G----ville is
transforming itself into a different nostalgia. My planets are rising
in song like little candle flames. I wish I possessed their humility.
Within me tonight are quiet moonlit waters very full and rich with
silent promises of rest.


August 4.

At Mass today Mr. C---- showed a fine courtesy serving with the high
humility of a punctilious gentleman. ... Today I saw the body of
Christ, "infinite riches in a little room." The human body of Christ
in its passion is the sum of all our bodies, and it is this truth to
which pantheism in its blindness dimly beckons. The saints and pure
poets and those who have died for friends are the image of the Sacred
Heart, and in them at moments of pure _reflection_ there is naked
light and the vision which is insupportable. Hence in the greatest
saints the stigmata. All God's lonely ones are the reflections of His
pain when they attain to sanctity. And holy priests are the
reflections of His Hands. Little children and saints may look into His