Yet it was not all darkness, and I knew that even what there was might be repelled and cleared away if only my people would turn towards me once more.

So I sent down upon them all possible blessings--some they rejected angrily, some they snatched at and threw away again, as though they were poor and trivial--none of them were they thankful for, and none did they desire to keep.

And the darkness above them deepened, while my anxious pity and love for them increased.

For how could I turn altogether away from them, as long as but a few remembered me?
There were some of these weak children of mine who loved and honoured me so well that they absorbed some of my light into themselves, and became heroes, poets, musicians, teachers of high and noble thought, and unselfish, devoted martyrs for the sake of the reverence they bore me.
There were women pure and sweet, who wore their existence as innocently as lilies, and who turned to me to seek protection, not for themselves, but for those they loved.

There were little children, whose asking voices were like waves of delicious music to my being, and for whom I had a surpassing tenderness.