Every ultimate fact is only the first of a new series.  Every general law only a particular fact of some more general law presently to disclose itself.  There is no outside, no inclosing wall, no circumference to us.  The man finishes his story,—­how good! how final! how it puts a new face on all things!  He fills the sky.  Lo, on the other side rises also a man and draws a circle around the circle we had just pronounced the outline of the sphere.  Then already is our first speaker not man, but only a first speaker.  His only redress is forthwith to draw a circle outside of his antagonist.  And so men do by themselves.  The result of to-day, which haunts the mind and cannot be escaped will presently be abridged into a word, and the principle that seemed to explain nature will itself be included as one example of a bolder generalization.  In the thought of to-morrow there is a power to upheave all thy creed, all the creeds, all the literatures of the nations, and marshal thee to a heaven which no epic dream has yet depicted.  Every man is not so much a workman in the world as he is a suggestion of that he should be.  Men walk as prophecies of the next age.

Step by step we scale this mysterious ladder; the steps are actions, the new prospect is power.  Every several result is threatened and judged by that which follows.  Every one seems to be contradicted by the new; it is only limited by the new.  The new statement is always hated by the old, and, to those dwelling in the old, comes like an abyss of scepticism.  But the eye soon gets wonted to it, for the eye and it are effects of one cause; then its innocency and benefit appear, and presently, all its energy spent, it pales and dwindles before the revelation of the new hour.

Fear not the new generalization.  Does the fact look crass[698] and material, threatening to degrade thy theory of spirit?  Resist it not; it goes to refine and raise thy theory of matter just as much.

There are no fixtures to men, if we appeal to consciousness.  Every man supposes himself not to be fully understood; and if there is any truth in him, if he rests at last on the divine soul, I see not how it can be otherwise.  The last chamber, the last closet, he must feel was never opened; there is always a residuum unknown, unanalyzable.  That is, every man believes that he has a greater possibility.

Our moods do not believe in each other.  To-day I am full of thoughts and can write what I please.  I see no reason why I should not have the same thought, the same power of expression, to-morrow.  What I write, whilst I write it, seems the most natural thing in the world:  but yesterday I saw a dreary vacuity in this direction in which now I see so much; and a month hence, I doubt not, I shall wonder who he was that wrote so many continuous pages.  Alas for this infirm faith, this will not strenuous, this vast ebb of a vast flow!  I am God in nature; I am a weed by the wall.