As the pictures in this strange and lovely book are infinite, so endlessly varied are the ways in which they impress us.  In our highest moments they seem to be definitely, almost consciously, sacerdotal, as though the symbolic acts of a solemn cosmic ritual, in which the universe is revealed visibly at worship.  Were man to make a practice of rising at dawn and contemplating in silence and alone the rising of the sun, he would need no other religion.  The rest of the day would be hallowed for him by that morning memory and his actions would partake of the largeness and chastity of that lustral hour.  Moonlight, again, seems to be the very holiness of Nature, welling out ecstatically from fountains of ineffable purity and blessedness.  Of some moonlight nights we feel that if we did what our spirits prompt us, we should pass them on our knees, as in some chapel of the Grail.  To attempt to realize in thought the rapture and purification of such a vigil is to wonder that we so seldom pay heed to such inner promptings.  So much we lose of the best kind of joy by spiritual inertia, or plain physical sloth; and some day it will be too late to get up and see the sunrise, or to follow the white feet of the moon as she treads her vanishing road of silver across the sea.  This involuntary conscience that reproaches us with such laxity in our Nature-worship witnesses how instinctive that worship is, and how much we unconsciously depend on Nature for our impulses and our moods.

Another definitely religious operation of Nature within us is expressed in that immense gratitude which throws open the gates of the spirit as we contemplate some example of her loveliness or grandeur.  Who that has stood by some still lake and watched a stretch of water-lilies opening in the dawn but has sent out somewhere into space a profound thankfulness to “whatever gods there be” that he has been allowed to gaze on so fair a sight.  Whatever the struggle or sorrow of our lives, we feel in such moments our great good fortune at having been born into a world that contains such marvels.  It is sufficient success in life, whatever our minor failures, to have beheld such beauty; and mankind at large witnesses to this feeling by the value it everywhere attaches to scenes in Nature exceptionally noble or exquisite.  Though the American traveller does not so express it, his sentiment toward such natural spectacles as the Grand Canon or Niagara Falls is that of an intense reverence.  Such places are veritable holy places, and man’s heart instinctively acknowledges them as sacred.  His repugnance to any violation of them by materialistic interests is precisely the same feeling as the horror with which Christendom regarded the Turkish violation of the Holy Sepulchre.  And this feeling will increase rather than decrease in proportion as religion is recognized as having its shrines and oracles not only in Jerusalem, or in St. Peter’s, but wherever Nature has erected her altars on the hills or wafted her incense through the woodlands.