The heavens above us, the great,
mysterious world about us, would have meant no more to us than to the
birds and the beasts that have perished without thought or memory of
the beauty which has encompassed them. All this the Imagination has
interpreted for us. It has fashioned life for us, and the dullest mind
that plods and counts and dies is ministered to and enriched by it. It
does magical things. It puts on its robe and opens its book, and
straightway the heavens rain melody and drop riches upon us. But this
is its play. In these displays of its art it hints at the resources at
its command, at the marvels it will yet bring to pass. Meanwhile it
has made the earth hospitable for us and taught men how to live above
the brutes."
The Poet stopped abruptly, as if he had been caught in the act of
preaching, and Rosalind gave the sermon a delightful ending.
"I wonder," she said, "if love would be possible without the
Imagination? For the heart of love is the perception of a deep and
genuine fellowship of the soul, and the end of love is the happiness
which comes through ministry. Could we understand a human soul or
serve it if the Imagination did not aid us with its wonderful light?
Is it not the Imagination which enables me to put myself in another's
place, and so to sympathise with another's sorrow and share another's
joy? Could a man feel the sufferings of a class or a race or the world
if the Imagination did not open these things to him? And if he did not
understand, could he serve?"
No one answered these questions, for they made us aware on the instant
how dependent are all the deep and beautiful relations of life on this
wonderful faculty.
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