that man with justice. If a man dissemble, deceive, he deceives
himself, and goes out of acquaintance with his own being.
Character is always known. Thefts never enrich; alms never
impoverish; murder will speak out of stone walls. The least
admixture of a lie--for example, the taint of vanity, any attempt
to make a good impression, a favorable appearance--will instantly
vitiate the effect. But speak the truth, and all things alive or
brute are vouchers, and the very roots of the grass underground
there do seem to stir and move to bear your witness. For all
things proceed out of the same spirit, which is differently named
love, justice, temperance, in its different applications, just as
the ocean receives different names on the several shores which it
washes. In so far as he roves from these ends, a man bereaves
himself of power, of auxiliaries. His being shrinks . . . he
becomes less and less, a mote, a point, until absolute badness is
absolute death. The perception of this law awakens in the mind a
sentiment which we call the religious sentiment, and which makes
our highest happiness. Wonderful is its power to charm and to
command. It is a mountain air. It is the embalmer of the world.

It makes the sky and the hills sublime, and the silent song of
the stars is it. It is the beatitude of man. It makes him
illimitable. When he says 'I ought'; when love warns him; when
he chooses, warned from on high, the good and great deed; then,
deep melodies wander through his soul from supreme wisdom. Then
he can worship, and be enlarged by his worship; for he can never
go behind this sentiment. All the expressions of this sentiment
are sacred and permanent in proportion to their purity. [They]
affect us more than all other compositions. The sentences of the
olden time, which ejaculate this piety, are still fresh and