A righteousness that created misery in order to up-hold itself, would be a righteousness that was unrighteous.  God will die for righteousness, but never create for a joyless righteousness.  To call into being the necessarily and hopelessly incomplete, would be to wrong creation in its very essence.  To create for the knowledge of himself, and then not give himself, would be injustice even to cruelty; and if God give himself, what other reward—­there can be no further—­is not included, seeing he is Life and all her children—­the All in all?  It will take the utmost joy God can give, to let men know him; and what man, knowing him, would mind losing every other joy?  Only what other joy could keep from entering, where the God of joy already dwelt?  The law of the universe holds, and will hold, the name of the Father be praised:—­’Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’  ’They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.’  ’He that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the spirit, shall of the spirit reap life everlasting.’  ’Whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance; but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.’

To object to Christianity as selfish, is utter foolishness; Christianity alone gives any hope of deliverance from selfishness.  Is it selfish to desire to love?  Is it selfish to hope for purity and the sight of God?  What better can we do for our neighbour than to become altogether righteous toward him?  Will he not be the nearer sharing in the exceeding great reward of a return to the divine idea?

Where is the evil toward God, where the wrong to my neighbour, if I think sometimes of the joys to follow in the train of perfect loving?  Is not the atmosphere of God, love itself, the very breath of the Father, wherein can float no thinnest pollution of selfishness, the only material wherewithal to build the airy castles of heaven?  ‘Creator,’ the childlike heart might cry, ’give me all the wages, all the reward thy perfect father-heart can give thy unmeriting child.  My fit wages may be pain, sorrow, humiliation of soul:  I stretch out my hands to receive them.  Thy reward will be to lift me out of the mire of self-love, and bring me nearer to thyself and thy children:  welcome, divinest of good things!  Thy highest reward is thy purest gift; thou didst make me for it from the first; thou, the eternal life, hast been labouring still to fit me for receiving it—­the vision, the knowledge, the possession of thyself.  I can seek but what thou waitest and watchest to give:  I would be such into whom thy love can flow.’