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the story of an african farm-第34部分
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when the poor; dark soul shut its eyes on earth it opened them in the still
light of heaven? that there is no wrath where God's face is? that if one
could once creep to the footstool of God; there is everlasting peace there;
like the fresh stillness of the early morning? While the atheist lay
wondering and afraid; God bent down and said: 〃My child; here I amI;
whom you have not known; I; whom you have not believed in; I am here。 I
sent My messenger; the white sheet…lightning; to call you home。 I am
here。〃
Then the poor soul turned to the lightits weakness and pain were gone
forever。
Have they not known; have they not heard; who it is rules?
〃For a little moment have I hidden my face from thee; but with everlasting
kindness will I have mercy upon thee; saith the Lord thy Redeemer。〃
We mutter on to ourselves; till some one pulls us violently by the arm to
remind us we are in church。 We see nothing but our own ideas。
Presently every one turns to pray。 There are six hundred souls lifting
themselves to the Everlasting light。
Behind us sit two pretty ladies; one hands her scent…bottle softly to the
other; and a mother pulls down her little girl's frock。 One lady drops her
handkerchief; a gentleman picks it up; she blushes。 The women in the choir
turn softly the leaves of their tune…books; to be ready when the praying is
done。 It is as though they thought more of the singing than the
Everlasting Father。 Oh; would it not be more worship of Him to sit alone
in the karoo and kiss one little purple flower that he had made? Is it not
mockery? Then the thought comes; 〃What doest thou here; Elijah?〃 We who
judge; what are we better than they?rather worse。 Is it any excuse to
say; 〃I am but a child and must come?〃 Does God allow any soul to step in
between the spirit he made and himself? What do we there in that place;
where all the words are lies against the All Father? Filled with horror;
we turn and flee out of the place。 On the pavement we smite our foot; and
swear in our child's soul never again to enter those places where men come
to sing and pray。 We are questioned afterward。 Why was it we went out of
the church。
How can we explain?we stand silent。 Then we are pressed further; and we
try to tell。 Then a head is shaken solemnly at us。 No one can think it
wrong to go to the house of the Lord; it is the idle excuse of a wicked
boy。 When will we think seriously of our souls; and love going to church?
We are wicked; very wicked。 And wewe slink away and go alone to cry。
Will it be always so? Whether we hate and doubt; or whether we believe and
love; to our dearest; are we to seem always wicked?
We do not yet know that in the soul's search for truth the bitterness lies
here; the striving cannot always hide itself among the thoughts; sooner or
later it will clothe itself in outward action; then it steps in and divides
between the soul and what it loves。 All things on earth have their price;
and for truth we pay the dearest。 We barter it for love and sympathy。 The
road to honour is paved with thorns; but on the path to truth; at every
step you set your foot down on your own heart。
VI。
Then at last a new timethe time of waking; short; sharp; and not
pleasant; as wakings often are。
Sleep and dreams exist on this conditionthat no one wake the dreamer。
And now life takes us up between her finger and thumb; shakes us furiously;
till our poor nodding head is well…nigh rolled from our shoulders; and she
sets us down a little hard on the bare earth; bruised and sore; but
preternaturally wide awake。
We have said in our days of dreaming; 〃Injustice and wrong are a seeming;
pain is a shadow。 Our God; He is real; He who made all things; and He only
is Love。〃
Now life takes us by the neck and shows us a few other things;new…made
graves with the red sand flying about them; eyes that we love with the
worms eating them; evil men walking sleek and fat; the whole terrible
hurly…burly of the thing called life;and she says; 〃What do you think of
these?〃 We dare not say 〃Nothing。〃 We feel them; they are very real。 But
we try to lay our hands about and feel that other thing we felt before。 In
the dark night in the fuel…room we cry to our Beautiful dream…god: 〃Oh;
let us come near you; and lay our head against your feet。 Now in our hour
of need be near us。〃 But He is not there; He is gone away。 The old
questioning devil is there。
We must have been awakened sooner or later。 The imagination cannot always
triumph over reality; the desire over truth。 We must have been awakened。
If it was done a little sharply; what matter? It was done thoroughly; and
it had to be done。
VII。
And a new life begins for usa new time; a life as cold as that of a man
who sits on the pinnacle of an iceberg and sees the glittering crystals all
about him。 The old looks indeed like a long hot delirium; peopled with
phantasies。 The new is cold enough。
Now we have no God。 We have had two: the old God that our fathers handed
down to us; that we hated; and never liked: the new one that we made for
ourselves; that we loved; but now he has flitted away from us; and we see
what he was made ofthe shadow of our highest ideal; crowned and throned。
Now we have no God。
〃The fool hath said in his heart; There is no God。〃 It may be so。 Most
things said or written have been the work of fools。
This thing is certainhe is a fool who says; 〃No man hath said in his
heart; There is no God。〃
It has been said many thousand times in hearts with profound bitterness of
earnest faith。
We do not cry and weep: we sit down with cold eyes and look at the world。
We are not miserable。 Why should we be? We eat and drink; and sleep all
night; but the dead are not colder。
And we say it slowly; but without sighing; 〃Yes; we see it now; there is no
God。〃
And; we add; growing a little colder yet。 〃There is no justice。 The ox
dies in the yoke; beneath its master's whip; it turns its anguish…filled
eyes on the sunlight; but there is no sign of recompense to be made it。
The black man is shot like a dog; and it goes well with the shooter。 The
innocent are accused and the accuser triumphs。 If you will take the
trouble to scratch the surface anywhere; you will see under the skin a
sentient being writhing in impotent anguish。〃
And; we say further; and our heart is as the heart of the dead for
coldness; 〃There is no order: all things are driven about by a blind
chance。〃
What a soul drinks in with its mother's milk will not leave it in a day。
From our earliest hour we have been taught that the thought of the heart;
the shaping of the rain…cloud; the amount of wool that grows on a sheep's
back; the length of a drought; and the growing of the corn; depend on
nothing that moves immutable; at the heart of all things; but on the
changeable will of a changeable being; whom
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