I told him how we kept fewer forms between us and God; retaining, indeed, no more than, perhaps, the nature of mankind in the mass rendered necessary for due observance. I told him I could not look on flowers and tinsel, on wax - lights and embroidery, at such times and under such circumstances as should be devoted to lifting the secret vision to Him whose home is Infinity, and His being Eternity. That when I thought of sin and sorrow, of earthly corruption, mortal depravity, weighty temporal woe I could not care for chanting priests or mumming officials; that when the pains of existence and the terrors of dissolution pressed before me when the mighty hope and measureless doubt of the future arose in view _then_, even the scientific strain, or the prayer in a language learned and dead, harassed: with hindrance a heart which only longed to cry "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"
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