It is not for nothing that I have seen the sun lifting up the faces of the flowers, and crumbling the countenances of the hills. And I have seen music stirring faintly in the bones of old men. And I have heard the dead Beethoven singing in the feet of children.
And I have watched the Little Earth in its little round of seasons dancing before the Lord.
And I have believed that music is wrought into all things, and that the people I see about me have not one of them been left out.
I believe in sunshine and in hothouses. I believe in burning glasses. I believe in focusing light into heat and heat into white fire, and turning white fire into little flowing brooks of steel.
And I believe in focusing men upon men.
I believe in Conversion.
Of course it would all be different—focusing men upon men, if men were cogs and wheels, or if the men they were focused on were made of stones.
I stand and look at this stone and believe it is all rubber and whalebone inside.
But what of it?