es of vacant time； the interior loss of all for which they had sacrificed the world。 They rejoiced in the uncovenanted beatitude of sweetness alighting in their hearts。 Like them are the poets whom； three times or ten times in the course of a long life； the Muse has approached； touched； and forsaken。 And yet hardly like them； not always so docile； nor so wholly prepared for the departure； the brevity； of the golden and irrevocable hour。 Few poets have fully recognised the metrical absence of their Muse。 For full recognition is expressed in one only way—silence。
It has been found that several tribes in Africa and in America worship the moon； and not the sun； a great number worship both； but no tribes are known to adore the sun； and not the moon。 For the periodicity of the sun is still in part a secret； but that of the moon is modestly apparent； perpetually influential。 On her depend the tides； and she is Selene； mother of Harsens； bringer of the dews that recurrently irrigate lands where rain is rare。 More than any other panion of earth is she the Measurer。 Early Indo…Germanic languages knew her by that name。 Her metrical phases are the symbol of the order of recurrence。 Constancy in approach and in departure is the reason of her inconstancies。 Juliet will not receive a vow spoken in invocation of the moon； but Juliet did not live to know that love itself has tidal times—lapses and ebbs which are due to the metrical rule of the interior heart； but which the lover vainly and unkindly attributes to some outward alteration in the beloved。 For man—except those elect already named—is hardly aware of periodicity。 The individual man either never learns it fully； or learns it late。 And he learns it so late； because it is a matter of cumulative experience upon which cumulative evidence is lacking。 It is in the after…part of each life that the law is learnt so definitely as to do away with the hope or fear of continuance。 That young sorrow es so near to despair is a result of this young ignorance。 So is the early hope of great achievement。 Life seems so long； and its capacity so great； to one who knows nothing of all the intervals it needs must hold—intervals between aspirations； between actions； pauses as inevitable as the pauses of sleep。 And life looks impossible to the young unfortunate； unaware of the inevitable and unfailing refreshment。 It would be for their peace to learn that there is a tide in the affairs of men； in a sense more subtle—if it is not too audacious to add a meaning to Shakespeare—than the phrase was meant to contain。 Their joy is flying away from them on its way home； their life will wax and wane； and if they would be wise； they must wake and rest in its phases； knowing that they are ruled by the law that mands all things—a sun’s revolutions and the rhythmic pangs of maternity。
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永恒之脉（1）
威廉？佐拉奇
令人惊奇的是，儿时的某些东西总会给我们留下深刻的印象。我至今还记得朗费罗的几句诗：
“生活是真实的！生命是真诚的！
死亡并非它最终的目标；
你本为尘埃，必归为尘土，
这是指肉体，而非灵魂。”
还有：
“伟人的生命警醒着我们
我们能够高尚地生活，
离开人世的时候，也会
在时间的沙滩上留下我们的足迹。”
诚然，与现在的年轻人相比，我们这代人的情感更为丰富。但是，无论这首诗是否为佳作，它朴素的言辞都传达了一种信息，并在一个小男孩的脑海中留下永久的记忆。
15岁时，我幻想着自己拥有一个守护天使。每当周末去乡间写生时，我会请求它的指引，祈祷某天能够成为一名伟大的艺术家，描绘出大自然最真实的美丽。这一小小的祈祷带给了我对世界的信仰和对自己的信心。
然而，我的信仰与信心遇到了严峻的考验。核武器时代让我们陷入了恐慌，我们的生命也似乎危在旦夕。人类的潜能与价值无法发挥出来，这也近乎是一种浪费。有时，我会想，万物的生存皆是一种奇迹。但是我坚信，有一种“永恒之脉”始终贯穿着天地万物，最具价值的遗产将会永存。
我相信，无论用怎样的方式，每个人都渴望将自己的生命融入这条“永恒之脉”。这就是生命的动力，也有人称它为永恒的动力。我想，无论它是什么，都是有益的，因为它赋予了我们生存的目标。不过，只有目标还远远不够。在人们眼中，艺术家总会不切实际地空想，但就我自己而言，我发现在创造任何艺术作品之前，都必须作出决定和计划。我知道，我不仅要带着敏锐的情感、对美的感知，去接近生活，同时还要有一颗谦卑、崇敬的心。
作为一名艺术家，我的人生信条是：热爱生活、热爱自由、热爱全世界人民。通常，一个热爱自己工作的人会是一个有梦想的人，而他梦想的灵魂也会以某些方式与特征表现出来。创造是一种绝妙的感觉。然而，我认为现今的人们缺乏交流的能力。如果人们，不仅仅是艺术家，而是所有的人，只要能敞开心扉，表达出忧愁与快乐、恐惧与希望，他们就会发现以前无法看到的东西，发现自己已融入生活的主流。
有时，恐惧与嘲讽会让我们灰心丧气。每当这时，我便会努力回忆不同时代的伟大艺术家拥有着怎样的表现力。一种能与人交流、提升人的品格的力量，能使观众产生或喜、或悲、或惧、或敬的心灵共鸣，而不只是为了装点生活或娱乐大众。
如果我们能扩大人类的思想与信仰领域，将会发现人人都具有创造天赋。这种才能使得我们每个人都独具个性，并赢得“永恒之脉”中的一席之地。我深信，如果我们能认识到这些，就会发现我们所生活的这个时代充满了冒险与革新的激情，我们将会在它的带领下走进一个更美好的崭新世界。
■ 心灵小语
正如文章中所说，万物的生存皆是一种奇迹。让我们一起坚信，有一种“永恒之脉”始终贯穿着天地万物，最具价值的遗产将会永存。
The Thread of Permance
William Zorach
It is strange how certain things make a great impression on us in childhood。 I remember these verses by Longfellow：
“Life is real！ Life is earnest！
And the graves is not its goal；
Dust thou art； to dust returnest；
Was not spoken of the soul。”
And again：
“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime；
And departing； leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time。”
Of course； my generation was much more sentimental than today’s youth but whether this was great poetry； it municated in simple language a message； and made a lasting impression on a small boy。
永恒之脉（2）
When I was fifteen I had an imaginary guardian angel and when I went to the country to sketch on Sundays； I asked for guidance； praying that someday I would be a fine artist and paint nature as beautiful as she really is。 What this little ceremony brought me was faith in the world and a belief in myself。
My faiths and beliefs have been badly strained。 The Atomic Age has caught us in a web of fear。 Our lives seem so impermanent and uncertain。 There is such a waste of human potential； of things worth while in people which never find expression。 I sometimes think it’s a miracle that anything survives。 Yet I believe that a thread of permanence runs through everything from the beginning of time； and the most valuable residue will survive。
I believe everybody has an urge to somehow spin his own life into a thread of permanence。 It is the impulse of life。 Some would call it the drive to immortality。 Whatever it is； I think it is good because it gives purpose to existence。 But purpose is not enough。 Artists are supposed to be notoriously impractical； but for myself； I found I had to make decisions and plans if I were to try to create anything。 I realized that I must approach life not only with a sensitivity； a perception of beauty； but with a feeling of humility and reverence。
My creed as an artist is to love life and liberty and the world of people。 A man who works and loves his work is often a man dreaming； and the spirit of his dreams will find forms and symbols to express that dream。 It is a wonderful feeling to create something。 But today； I think there is a lack of power of munication。 If people； not just artists； but all kinds of people； could only open their hearts and express their sorrow； their happiness； their fears and hopes； they would discover they had an identity with the main stream of life which they never saw before。
Sometimes fear and cynicism so grip our minds that we lose heart。 Then I try to remember how the great artists of the ages had the power of expressiveness。 Theirs was the power to municate； to exalt； to move the observer to joy or tears； to strike terror and awe in the hearts of men； not just to decorate or merely entertain。
If we can expand the boundaries of men’s thoughts and beliefs； we will discover we all have creative possibilities—talents t