It has revived in me a haunting impression of you,
which I carried away from some spoken words of yours...
When I was last in Concord, you spoke of retiring farther from our civilization.
I asked you if you would feel no longings for the society of your friends.
Your reply was in substance, "No, I am nothing."
That reply was memorable to me.
It indicated a depth of resources, a completeness of renunciation,
a poise and repose in the universe, which to me is almost inconceivable;
which in you seemed domesticated, and to which I look up with veneration.
I would know of that soul which can say "I am nothing."
I would be roused by its words to a truer and purer life.
Upon me seems to be dawning with new significance the idea that God is here;
that we have but to bow before Him in profound submission at every moment,
and He will fill our souls with his prense.
in this opening of the souls to God, all duties seem to centre;
what else have we to do?...
If I understand rightly the significance of your life, this is it:
You would sunder yourself from society, from the spell of institutions, customs,
conventionalities, that you may lead a fresh, simple life with God.
Instead of breathing a new life into the old forms,
you would have a new life without and within.
There is something sublime to me in this atitude, -far as I may be from it myself...
Speak to me in this hour as you are prompted...
I honor you because you abstain from action, and open your soul that you may be somewhat.
Amid a world of noisy, shallow actors it is noble to stand aside and say,
"I will simply be." Could I plant myself at once upon the truth,
reducing my wants to their minimum,...
I should at once be brought nearer to my fellow-men, -and life would be infinitely richer.
But, alas! I shiver on the brink...