The child on the tomb is looking past the angel's face into the
glory of heaven; but the poet, who wishes that he might take the
place of the little child, declares that he would gaze, not toward
heaven, but into the gracious face of the bird of God. If we could
only see life as the angel sees it, if we could only see the whole
course of history, we should then realise that:
All is beauty:
And knowing this, is love, and love is duty.
We can not see the forest for the trees: the last place to obtain an
idea of the range, grandeur, and beauty of a forest, is in it: one
should climb a high mountain and look over its vast extent. So we,
in life, "where men sit and hear each other groan," believe that the
world is some dreadful mistake, full of meaningless anguish. This is
because we are in the midst of it all: we can not see far: the
nearest objects, though infinitesimal in size, loom enormous, as
with the palm of your hand you can cut off the sun. But if we could
only see the end from the beginning, if we could get the angel's
view-point, the final result would be beauty.
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