Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VIII. Swedenborg
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the effort of continually having to descend to
a child’s level. What, however, pains me
intensely is the deep, reproachful look she casts at
me when she thinks I find her a nuisance, and
imagines that I love her no longer. Then her open
joyous little face falls, her looks are averted,
her heart is closed to me, and I feel myself
bereft of the light which this child had brought
into my dark soul. I kiss her, take her on my
arm, look for flowers and pretty pebbles for
her, cut a switch for her, and pretend to be a
cow which she is driving to the meadow. She
is contented and happy, and life smiles at me
again.
I have sacrificed my morning hour. So do I
atone for the evil which in a moment of
madness I had wished to conjure down on this
angel’s head. What a penance—to be loved!
Truly the powers are not so cruel as we are!
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