Then indeed will come the time for Faith, for the last word of Faith, to
say still steadfastly, disgraced or dying, defeated or discredited, that
all is well:--
"This and not that was my appointed work, and this I had to be."
4.6. THE LAST CONFESSION.
So these broken confessions and statements of mood and attitude come to
an end.
But at this end, since I have, I perceive, run a little into a pietistic
strain, I must repeat again how provisional and personal I know all
these things to be. I began by disavowing ultimates. My beliefs, my
dogmas, my rules, they are made for my campaigning needs, like the
knapsack and water-bottle of a Cockney soldier invading some stupendous
mountain gorge. About him are fastnesses and splendours, torrents and
cataracts, glaciers and untrodden snows. He comes tramping on heel-worn
boots and ragged socks. Beauties and blue mysteries shine upon him and
appeal to him, the enigma of beauty smiling the faint strange smile of
Leonardo's Mona Lisa. He sees a light on the grass like music; and the
blossom on the trees against the sky brings him near weeping.
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