The Creator is, first of all, He whose glory the heavens declare, while
the earth makes known the work of His hands. He is the Mighty One and
the Wise, whose will has given being to nature, and who directs at once
the chorus of stars in the depths of the heavens, and the drop of vital
moisture in the herb which we tread under foot.

If, after having looked around, we turn our regard in upon ourselves, we
then discover other heavens, spiritual heavens, in which shine, like
stars of the first magnitude, those objects which cause the heart of man
to beat, so long as he is not self-degraded: truth, goodness, beauty.
Now we feel that we are made for this higher world. Material enjoyments
may enchain our will; we may, in the indulgence of unworthy passions,
pursue what in its essence is only evil, error, and deformity; but, if
all the rays of our true nature are not extinguished, a voice issues
from the depth of our souls and protests against our debasement. Our
aspirations toward these spiritual excellences are unlimited. Our
thought sets out on its course: have we solved one question? immediately
new questions arise, which press, no less than the former, for an
answer. Our conscience speaks: have we come in a certain degree to
realize what is right and good? immediately conscience demands of us
still more. Is our feeling for beauty awakened? Well, sirs, when an
artist is satisfied with the work of his hands, do you not know at once
what to think of him? Do you not know that that man will never do any
thing great, who does not see shining in his horizon an ideal which
stamps as imperfect all that he has been able to realize? The voice
which urges us on through life from the cradle to the grave, and which,
without allowing us a moment's pause, is ever crying--Forward! forward!
this voice is not more imperious than the noble instinct which, in the
view of beauty, of truth, of good, is also saying to us--Forward!