The morning air breathes a new and
laughing energy into veins and marrow. If every day is a repetition of
life, every dawn gives signs as it were a new contract with existence.
At dawn everything is fresh, light, simple, as it is for children. At
dawn spiritual truth, like the atmosphere, is more transparent, and our
organs, like the young leaves, drink in the light more eagerly, breathe
in more ether, and less of things earthly. If night and the starry sky
speak to the meditative soul of God, of eternity and the infinite, the
dawn is the time for projects, for resolutions, for the birth of action.
While the silence and the "sad serenity of the azure vault," incline the
soul to self-recollection, the vigor and gayety of nature spread into
the heart and make it eager for life and living. Spring is upon us.
Primroses and violets have already hailed her coming. Rash blooms are
showing on the peach trees; the swollen buds of the pear trees and the
lilacs point to the blossoming that is to be; the honeysuckles are
already green.
April 26, 1852.--This evening a feeling of emptiness took possession of
me; and the solemn ideas of duty, the future, solitude, pressed
themselves upon me. I gave myself to meditation, a very necessary
defense against the dispersion and distraction brought about by the
day's work and its detail.
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