His history was
taken up into God: it had not vanished: his life was hid with Christ
in God. To the God of the human heart nothing that has ever been a
joy, a grief, a passing interest, can ever cease to be what it has
been; there is no fading at the breath of time, no passing away of
fashion, no dimming of old memories in the heart of him whose being
creates time. Falconer's heart rose up to him as to his own deeper
life, his indwelling deepest spirit--above and beyond him as the
heavens are above and beyond the earth, and yet nearer and homelier
than his own most familiar thought. 'As the light fills the earth,'
thought he, 'so God fills what we call life. My sorrows, O God, my
hopes, my joys, the upliftings of my life are with thee, my root, my
life. Thy comfortings, my perfect God, are strength indeed!'
He rose and looked around him. While he lay, the waning, fading
moon had risen, weak and bleared and dull. She brightened and
brightened until at last she lighted up the night with a wan,
forgetful gleam. 'So should I feel,' he thought, 'about the past on
which I am now gazing, were it not that I believe in the God who
forgets nothing. That which has been, is.' His eye fell on
something bright in the field beyond. He would see what it was, and
crossed the earthen dyke. It shone like a little moon in the grass.
By humouring the reflection he reached it. It was only a cutting
of white iron, left by some tinker.
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