George Fox sits in hollow trees in the rain, and seeks this same God whom all the people call upon in half jest from pillowed pews. The King! The King! cry they, asleep, while he sees the chains still on their legs, and his, and questions this, and them, asking of priests and of great men of learning, hearing but vacancy in their sonorous answers. Then, in a high place (it is often in these high places that it happens, take heed) he heeds a voice no chain will stand, and his heart leaps. All creation has now for him a new smell, such as it had not before, and the God-swarmed man's heart leaps over the world, and over its bad master. Good George, broad head bible-steeped, sees through the steeple to the soul's church, and calls in the voice of Isaiah: come, buy wine and bread without money and without price! And many come to hear the mad man speak; life is hard, and God's fools must be their fun. But this one will strike sparks, his Christ-fire spreads! Hell helpless for once looks on, as love, the power of God, rises from the dead; even England draws saints' breath, and some for a time are such as God in Eden walked with.
Richard Bear email@example.com Eugene Monthly Meeting
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