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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
106
He
fled
from
Nature’s
silent
smile,
as
that
poor
old
King
Edward
(mis-called
the
Confessor)
fled
from
her
hymns
of
praise,
in
the
old
legend
of
Havering-atte-bower,
when
he
cursed
the
nightingales
because
their
songs
confused
him
in
his
prayers:
but
the
wise
man
need
copy
neither,
and
fear
neither
the
silence
nor
the
laughter
of
the
mighty
mother
Earth,
if
he
will
be
but
wise,
and
hear
her
tell
him,
alike
in
both—
“Why
call
me
mother?
Why
ask
me
for
knowledge
which
I
cannot
teach,
peace
which
I
cannot
give
or
take
away?
I
am
only
your
foster-mother
and
your
nurse—
and
I
have
not
been
an
unkindly
one.
But
you
are
God’s
children,
and
not
mine.
Ask
Him.
I
can
amuse
you
with
my
songs;
but
they
are
but
a
nurse’s
lullaby
to
the
weary
flesh.
I
can
awe
you
with
my
silence;
but
my
silence
is
only
my
just
humility,
and
your
gain.
How
dare
I
pretend
to
tell
you
secrets
which
He
who
made
me
knows
alone?
I
am
but
inanimate
matter;
why
ask
of
me
things
which
belong
to
living
spirit?
In
God
I
live
and
move,
and
have
my
being;
I
know
not
how,
any
more
than
you
know.
Who
will
tell
you
what
life
is,
save
He
who
is
the
Lord
of
life?
And
if
He
will
not
tell
you,
be
sure
it
is
because
you
need
not
to
know.
At
least,
why
seek
God
in
nature,
the
living
among
the
dead?
He
is
not
here:
He
is
risen.”
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