The Child of the Dawn | Page 4

perfect summer day, on the South
Downs. The great smooth shoulders of the hills lay left and right, and,
in front of me, the rich tufted grass ran suddenly down to the plain,
which stretched out before me like a map. I saw the fields and woods,
the minute tiled hamlet-roofs, the white roads, on which crawled tiny
carts. A shepherd, far below, drove his flock along a little deep-cut lane
among high hedges. The sounds of earth came faintly and sweetly up,
obscure sounds of which I could not tell the origin; but the tinkling of
sheep-bells was the clearest, and the barking of the shepherd-dog. My
own dog sat beside me, watching my face, impatient to be gone. But at

the barking he pricked up his ears, put his head on one side, and
wondered, I saw, where that companionable sound came from. What he
made of the scene I do not know; the sight of the fruitful earth, the
homes of men, the fields and waters, filled me with an inexpressible
emotion, a wide-flung hope, a sense of the immensity and intricacy of
life. But to my dog it meant nothing at all, though he saw just what I
did. To him it was nothing but a great excavation in the earth, patched
and streaked with green. It was not then the scene itself that I loved;
that was only a symbol of emotions and ideas within me. It touched the
spring of a host of beautiful thoughts; but the beauty and the sweetness
were the contribution of my own heart and mind.
Now in the new world in which I found myself, I approached the
thoughts of beauty and loveliness direct, without any intervening
symbols at all. The emotions which beautiful things had aroused in me
upon earth were all there, in the new life, but not confused or blurred,
as they had been in the old life, by the intruding symbols of ugly,
painful, evil things. That was all gone like a mist. I could not think an
evil or an ugly thought.
For a period it was so with me. For a long time--I will use the words of
earth henceforth without any explanation--I abode in the same calm,
untroubled peace, partly in memory of the old days, partly in the new
visions. My senses seemed all blended in one sense; it was not sight or
hearing or touch--it was but an instant apprehension of the essence of
things. All that time I was absolutely alone, though I had a sense of
being watched and tended in a sort of helpless and happy infancy. It
was always the quiet sea, and the dawning light. I lived over the scenes
of the old life in a vague, blissful memory. For the joy of the new life
was that all that had befallen me had a strange and perfect significance.
I had lived like other men. I had rejoiced, toiled, schemed, suffered,
sinned. But it was all one now. I saw that each influence had somehow
been shaping and moulding me. The evil I had done, was it indeed evil?
It had been the flowering of a root of bitterness, the impact of material
forces and influences. Had I ever desired it? Not in my spirit, I now felt.
Sin had brought me shame and sorrow, and they had done their work.
Repentance, contrition--ugly words! I laughed softly at the thought of

how different it all was from what I had dreamed. I was as the lost
sheep found, as the wayward son taken home; and should I spoil my
joy with recalling what was past and done with for ever? Forgiveness
was not a process, then, a thing to be sued for and to be withheld; it was
all involved in the glad return to the breast of God.
What was the mystery, then? The things that I had wrought, ignoble,
cruel, base, mean, selfish--had I ever willed to do them? It seemed
impossible, incredible. Were those grievous things still growing,
seeding, flowering in other lives left behind? Had they invaded,
corrupted, hurt other poor wills and lives? I could think of them no
longer, any more than I could think of the wrongs done to myself.
Those had not hurt me either. Perhaps I had still to suffer, but I could
not think of that. I was too much overwhelmed with joy. The whole
thing seemed so infinitely little and far away. So for a time I floated on
the moving crystal of the translucent sea, over the glimmering deeps,
the dawn above me, the scenes of the old life growing and shaping
themselves and fading without any will of my own, nothing within or
without me but ineffable peace and perfect joy.

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