He was not yet an old man in years, but he seemed so to himself--very
old and out of place in a strange and worldly universe. These years,
which did not abound in great events, but were made burdensome by
political and local quarrels, and filled with hours of bitterness and
sorrow, will inspire sympathy, we trust, in every one who studies the
life of this great man impartially. The ardor of his life had warmed
his whole people, had called forth in millions the beginnings of a
higher human development; the blessing remained for the millions,
while he himself felt at last little but the sorrow. Once he joyfully
had hoped to die as a martyr; now he wished for the peace of the
grave, like a trusty, aged, worn-out laborer--another case of a tragic
human fate.
But the greatest sorrow that he felt lay in the relation of his
doctrine to the life of his nation. He had founded a new church on his
pure gospel, and had given to the spirit and the conscience of the
people an incomparably greater meaning. All about him flourished a new
life and greater prosperity, and many valuable arts--painting and
music--the enjoyment of comfort, and a finer social culture. Still
there was something in the air of Germany which threatened ruin:
princes and governments were fiercely at odds, foreign powers were
threatening invasions--the Emperor of Spain, the Pope from Rome, the
Turks from the Mediterranean; fanatics and demagogues were
influential, and the hierarchy was not yet fallen.
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