At one moment I would let in all the sounds of the earth, at another all the sights.  So we practise the hand at one time, the foot at another, or learn how to sit or to walk, and so acquire new grace for the whole body.  Should we do less in acquiring grace for the spirit?  It will astonish one who has not tried it how full the world is of sounds commonly unheard, and of sights commonly unseen, but in their nature, like the smallest blossoms, of a curious perfection and beauty.

Out of this practice grew presently, and as it seems to me instinctively, for I cannot now remember the exact time of its beginning, a habit of repeating under my breath, or even aloud, and in a kind of singsong voice, fragmentary words and sentences describing what it was that I saw or felt at the moment, as, for example: 

“The pink blossoms of the wild crab-apple trees I see from the hill....  The reedy song of the wood thrush among the thickets of the wild cherry....  The scent of peach leaves, the odour of new-turned soil in the black fields....  The red of the maples in the marsh, the white of apple trees in bloom....  I cannot find Him out—­nor know why I am here....”

Some form of expression, however crude, seemed to reenforce and intensify the gatherings of the senses; and these words, afterward remembered, or even written down in the little book I sometimes carried in my pocket, seemed to awaken echoes, however faint, of the exaltation of that moment in the woods or fields, and enabled me to live twice where formerly I had been able to live but once.

It was by this simple process of concentrating upon what I saw or heard that I increased immeasurably my own joy of my garden and fields and the hills and marshes all about.  A little later, for I was a slow learner, I began to practise the same method with the sense of smell, and still later with the sense of taste.  I said to myself, “I will no longer permit the avid and eager eye to steal away my whole attention.  I will learn to enjoy more completely all the varied wonders of the earth.”

So I tried deliberately shutting the doorways of both sight and hearing, and centring the industry of my spirit upon the flavours of the earth.  I tested each odour narrowly, compared it well with remembered odours, and often turned the impression I had into such poor words as I could command.

What a new and wonderful world opened to me then!  My takings of nature increased tenfold, a hundredfold, and I came to a new acquaintance with my own garden, my own hills, and all the roads and fields around about—­and even the town took on strange new meanings for me.  I cannot explain it rightly, but it was as though I had found a new earth here within the old one, but more spacious and beautiful than any I had known before.  I have thought, often and often, that this world we live in so dumbly, so carelessly, would be more glorious than the tinsel heaven of the poets if only we knew how to lay hold upon it, if only we could win that complete command of our own lives which is the end of our being.