But listen to the voice of Him who knew what was in man, when
He said, "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall
not enter into the kingdom of heaven." Their souls are like their
bodies, not perfect, but beautiful enough, and fresh enough, to shame any
one who shall dare to look down on them. Their souls are like their
bodies, hidden by the rags, foul with the dirt of what we miscall
civilisation. But take them to the pure stream, strip off the ugly,
shapeless rags, wash the young limbs again, and you shall find them, body
and soul, fresh and lithe, graceful and capable--capable of how much, God
alone who made them knows. Well said of such, the great Christian poet
of your northern hills--
"Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home."
Truly, and too truly, alas! he goes on to say--
"Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy."
Will you let the shades of that prison-house of mortality be peopled with
little save obscene phantoms? Truly, and too truly, he goes on--
"The youth, who daily further from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid,
Is on his way attended.
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