I had often known the delight of watching the nearer coming of a season, but it had not before been given to me to live in that delight moment by moment.  It is so that one learns, without the help of any kind of science, a certain intuition, vague perhaps, but altogether indisputable, of the Absolute.  There was a man of science, possibly a great one, who declared that he had not discovered God under his scalpel.  What a shocking mistake for an able mind to make!  Where was the need of a scalpel, when the joy and the thrill of our senses are all-sufficient to convince us of the purpose commanding our whole evolution?  The poet watches the coming of the seasons as it were great ships that will, he knows, set sail again.  At times the storm may delay them, but at their next coming they will bring with them the rich fragrance of the unknown coasts.  A season coming again to our own shores seems to bring us delights which it has learnt by long travel.

Ah, dearest mother, if one could have again a retreat for the soul!  O solitude, for those worthy to possess it!  How seldom is it inviolate!

February 11.

It may possibly be a great intended privilege for our generation to be a witness of these horrors, but what a terrible price to pay!  Well, faith, eternal faith, is over all.  Faith in an evolution, an Order, beyond our human patience.

February 11 (2nd day in the front line).

In such hours as these one must perforce take refuge in the extra-human principle of sacrifice; it is impossible for mere humanity to go further.

Let go all poor human hope.  Seek something beyond; perhaps you have already found it.  As for me, I feel myself to be unworthy in such days to be anything more than a memory.  I picked some flowers in the mud.  Keep them in remembrance of me.

5 o’clock.

Courage through all, courage in spite of all.

February 13 (4th day in the front line).

BELOVED,—­After the days of tears and of rebellion of the heart that have so shaken me, I pull myself together again to say ’Thy will be done.’  So, according to the power and the measure of my faculties, I would be he who to the very end never despaired of his share in the building of the Temple.  I would be the workman who, knowing full well that his scaffolding will give way and who has no hope of safety, goes on with his stone-carving of decoration on the cathedral front.  Decoration.  I am not one who will ever be able to lift the blocks of stone.  But there are others for that job.  Yes, I am getting back into a little quiet thinking.  The equable tranquillity I had hoped for is not yet mine; but I have occasional glimpses of that region of peace and light in which all things, even our love, is renewed and transfigured.

I am now at the foot of a peaked hill where Nature has brought the loveliest lines of design together.  Man is hunting man, and in a moment they will be locked in fight.  Meanwhile the lark is rising.