The meek are those that do not assert themselves, do not defend themselves, never dream of avenging themselves, or of returning aught but good for evil.  They do not imagine it their business to take care of themselves.  The meek man may indeed take much thought, but it will not be for himself.  He never builds an exclusive wall, shuts any honest neighbour out.  He will not always serve the wish, but always the good of his neighbour.  His service must be true service.  Self shall be no umpire in affair of his.  Man’s consciousness of himself is but a shadow:  the meek man’s self always vanishes in the light of a real presence.  His nature lies open to the Father of men, and to every good impulse is as it were empty.  No bristling importance, no vain attendance of fancied rights and wrongs, guards his door, or crowds the passages of his house; they are for the angels to come and go.  Abandoned thus to the truth, as the sparks from the gleaming river dip into the flowers of Dante’s unperfected vision, so the many souls of the visible world, lights from the father of lights, enter his heart freely; and by them he inherits the earth he was created to inherit—­possesses it as his father made him capable of possessing, and the earth of being possessed.  Because the man is meek, his eye is single; he sees things as God sees them, as he would have his child see them:  to confront creation with pure eyes is to possess it.

How little is the man able to make his own, who would ravish all!  The man who, by the exclusion of others from the space he calls his, would grasp any portion of the earth as his own, befools himself in the attempt.  The very bread he has swallowed cannot so in any real sense be his.  There does not exist such a power of possessing as he would arrogate.  There is not such a sense of having as that of which he has conceived the shadow in his degenerate and lapsing imagination.  The real owner of his demesne is that pedlar passing his gate, into a divine soul receiving the sweetnesses which not all the greed of the so-counted possessor can keep within his walls:  they overflow the cup-lip of the coping, to give themselves to the footfarer.  The motions aerial, the sounds, the odours of those imprisoned spaces, are the earnest of a possession for which is ever growing his power of possessing.  In no wise will such inheritance interfere with the claim of the man who calls them his.  Each possessor has them his, as much as each in his own way is capable of possessing them.  For possession is determined by the kind and the scope of the power of possessing; and the earth has a fourth dimension of which the mere owner of its soil knows nothing.

The child of the maker is naturally the inheritor.  But if the child try to possess as a house the thing his father made an organ, will he succeed in so possessing it?  Or if he do nestle in a corner of its case, will he oust thereby the Lord of its multiplex harmony, sitting regnant on the seat of sway, and drawing with ‘volant touch’ from the house of the child the liege homage of its rendered wealth?  To the poverty of such a child are all those left, who think to have and to hold after the corrupt fancies of a greedy self.