When you consider the radiance， that it does not withhold

    itself but pours its abundance without selection into every

    nook and cranny not overhung or hidden； when you consider

    that birds' bones make no awful noise against the light but

    lie low in the light as in a high testimony； when you consider

    the radiance， that it will look into the guiltiest

    swervings of the weaving heart and bear itself upon them，

    not flinching into disguise or darkening； when you consider

    the abundance of such resource as illuminates the glow-blue

    bodies and gold-skeined wings of flies swarming the dumped

    guts of a natural slaughter or the coil of shit and in no

    way winces from its storms of generosity； when you consider

    that air or vacuum， snow or shale， squid or wolf， rose or lichen，

    each is accepted into as much light as it will take， then

    the heart moves roomier， the man stands and looks about， the

    leaf does not increase itself above the grass， and the dark

    work of the deepest cells is of a tune with May bushes

    and fear lit by the breadth of such calmly turns to praise.