An Ambitious Man

People who believe in no God, invariably exalt themselves into His

position, and worship with the very idolatry they decry in others.

Music is the echo of the rhythm of God's respirations.

Poetry is the effort of the divine part of man to formulate a worthy

language in which to converse with angels.

Painting and sculpture seem to me the most presumptuous of the arts.

They are an effort of man to outdo God in creation. He never made a

perfect form or face--the artist alone makes them.

I am sure I do not play the organ as well at St Blank's as I played

it in the little church where I gave my services and was unknown.

People are praising me too much here, and this mars all spontaneity.

The very first hour of positive success is often the last hour of

great achievement. So soon as we are conscious of the admiring and

expectant gaze of men, we cease to commune with God. It is when we

are unknown to or neglected by mortals, that we reach up to the

Infinite and are inspired.

I have seen Marah Adams to-day, and I felt strangely drawn to her.

Her face would express all goodness if it were not so unhappy.

Unhappiness is a species of evil, since it is a discourtesy to God to

be unhappy.

I am going to do all I can for the girl to bring her into a better

frame of mind. No blame can be attached to her, and yet now that I

am face to face with the situation, and realise how the world regards

such a person, I myself find it a little hard to think of braving

public opinion and identifying myself with her. But I am going to

overcome such feelings, as they are cowardly and unworthy of me, and

purely the result of education. I am amazed, too, to discover this

weakness in myself.

How sympathetic dear mamma is! I told her about Marah, and she wept

bitterly, and has carried her eyes full of tears ever since. I must

be careful and tell her nothing sad while she is in such a weak state

physically.

I told mamma what the rector said about lying. She coincided with

him that Mrs Adams would have been justified in denying the truth if

she had realised how her daughter was to be affected by this

knowledge. A woman's past belongs only to herself and her God, she

says, unless she wishes to make a confidant. But I cannot agree with

her or the rector. I would want the truth from my parents, however

much it hurt. Many sins which men regard as serious only obstruct

the bridge between our souls and truth. A lie burns the bridge.