iverseconstantlyandobedientlyanswerstoourconceptionswhetherwetravelfastorslow,thetrackislaidforus.Letusspendourlivesinconceivingthen.Thepoetortheartistneveryethadsofairandnobleadesignbutsomeofhisposterityatleastcouldaccomplishit.
LetusspendonedayasdeliberatelyasNature,andnotbethrownoffthetrackbyeverynutshellandmosquito’swingthatfallsontherails.Letusriseearlyandfast,orbreakfast,gentlyandwithoutperturbationletcompanycomeandletcompanygo,letthebellsringandthechildrencry,—determinedtomakeadayofit.Whyshouldweknockunderandgowiththestream?Letusnotbeupsetandoverwhelmedinthatterriblerapidandwhirlpoolcalledadinner,situatedinthemeridianshallows.Weatherthisdangerandyouaresafe,fortherestofthewayisdownhill.Withunrelaxednerves,withmorningvigor,sailbyit,lookinganotherway,tiedtothemastlikeUlysses.Iftheenginewhistles,letitwhistletillitishoarseforitspains.Ifthebellrings,whyshouldwerun?Wewillconsiderwhatkindofmusictheyarelike.Letussettleourselves,andworkandwedgeourfeetdownwardthroughthemudandslushofopinion,andprejudice,andtradition,anddelusion,andappearance,thatalluvionwhichcoverstheglobe,throughParisandLondon,throughNewYorkandBostonandConcord,throughchurchandstate,throughpoetryandphilosophyandreligion,tillwecometoahardbottomandrocksinplace,whichwecancallreality,andsay,Thisis,andnomistakeandthenbegin,havingapointd’appui,belowfreshetandfrostandfire,aplacewhereyoumightfoundawallorastate,orsetalamp-postsafely,orperhapsagauge,notaNilometer,butaRealometer,thatfutureagesmightknowhowdeepafreshetofshamsandappearanceshadgatheredfromtimetotime.Ifyoustandrightfrontingandfacetofacetoafact,youwillseethesunglimmeronbothitssurfaces,asifitwereacimeter,andfeelitssweetedgedividingyouthroughtheheartandmarrow,andsoyouwillhappilyconcludeyourmortalcareer.Beitlifeordeath,wecraveonlyreality.Ifwearereallydying,letusheartherattleinourthroatsandfeelcoldintheextremitiesifwearealive,letusgoaboutourbusiness.
TimeisbutthestreamIgoa-fishingin.IdrinkatitbutwhileIdrinkIseethesandybottomanddetecthowshallowitis.Itsthincurrentslidesaway,buteternityremains.Iwoulddrinkdeeperfishinthesky,whosebottomispebblywithstars.Icannotcountone.Iknownotthefirstletterofthealphabet.IhavealwaysbeenregrettingthatIwasnotaswiseasthedayIwasborn.Theintellectisacleaveritdiscernsandriftsitswayintothesecretofthings.Idonotwishtobeanymorebusywithmyhandsthanisnecessary.Myheadishandsandfeet.Ifeelallmybestfacultiesconcentratedinit.Myinstincttellsmethatmyheadisanorganforburrowing,assomecreaturesusetheirsnoutandfore-paws,andwithitIwouldmineandburrowmywaythroughthesehills.Ithinkthattherichestveinissomewherehereaboutssobythedivining-rodandthinrisingvaporsIjudgeandhereIwillbegintomine.