But now there's a crop of something
better than stones, I can promise you! It goes on gathering, and being
garnered and mingled and sifted and winnowed--the precious,
indestructible harvest of how many millions of years of life!
* * * * *
And this I know: the longer and more strenuously and completely one
lives one's life on earth the better for all. It is the foundation of
everything. Though if men could guess what is in store for them when
they die, without also knowing _that_, they would not have the patience
to live--they wouldn't wait! For who would fardels bear? They would just
put stones in their pockets, as you did, and make for the nearest pond.
They mustn't!
* * * * *
Nothing is lost--nothing! From the ineffable, high, fleeting thought a
Shakespeare can't find words to express, to the slightest sensation of
an earthworm--nothing! Not a leaf's feeling of the light, not a
loadstone's sense of the pole, not a single volcanic or electric thrill
of the mother earth.
All knowledge must begin on earth for _us_. It is the most favored
planet in this poor system of ours just now, and for a few short
millions of years to come.
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