August loured over the world, time seemed to stand still. A universal astonishment and confusion fell; as upon a flock of sheep perplexed by strange dogs. But now, though never before was a St. Lucy s Day so black with absence, darkness, death, Christmas is gone. Spring comes swiftly, the almond trees flourish. Easter will soon be here. Life breaks into beauty again and we realize that man may bring hell itself into the world, but that Nature ever patiently waits to be his natural paradise. Yet still a kind of instinctive blindness blots out the prospect of the future. Until the long horror of the war is gone from our minds, we shall be able to think of nothing that has not for its background a chaotic darkness. Like every obsession, it gnaws at thought, follows us into our dreams and returns with the morning. But there have been other wars. And humanity, after learning as best it may their brutal lesson, has survived them. Just as the young soldier leaves home behind him and accepts hardship and danger as to the manner born, so, when he returns again, life will resume its old quiet wont. Nature is not idle even in the imagination. It is mans salvation to forget no less than it is his salvation to remember.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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