,the ,harvest of a ,quiet ,eye4 ,with ,numerous ,illustrations by ,noel ,humphreys1 ,harrison ,weir1 ,wimperis ,pritchett1 ,miss ,edwards1 and other eminent ,artists4 ,,the ,,harvest ,,of ,a ,,quiet ,,eye4 ,,leisure ,,thoughts ,,for ,,busy ,,lives4 ,,by ,,the ,,author ,,of 8,,my ,,study ,,chair10 8,,musings10 ,,etc4 ,illustration ,,london3 ,,the ,,religious ,,tract ,,society1 #ef1 ,,paternoster ,,row2 #fe1 ,,st4 ,,paul',s ,,churchyard2 ,,and #afd1 ,,piccadilly4 ,illustration3 8,the outward shows of sky and earth1 ,of hill and valley he has viewed2 ,and impulses of deeper birth ,have come to him in solitude4 8,in common things that round us lie1 ,some random truths he can impart1 --,the harvest of a quiet eye ,that broods and sleeps on his own heart40 ,,wordsworth4 ,illustration3 ,,contents4 ,,page ,,the ,,old ,,year ,,and ,,the ,,new #a ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,threshold #bc ,,spring ,,days #da ,,musings ,,in ,a ,,wood #fc ,,the ,,may-,,days ,,of ,,the ,,soul #he ,,summer ,,days #aja ,,musings ,,in ,,the ,,hay #abc ,,the ,,beauty ,,of ,,rain #ade ,,autumn ,,days #afa ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,sea-,,shore #ahc ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,mountains #aii ,,musings ,,in ,,the ,,twilight #bba ,,winter ,,days #bda ,,the ,,end ,,of ,,the ,,seasons #bfe ,,under ,,bare ,,boughs #bhc ,illustration3 ,preface ,these papers1 written in the intervals of parish work1 have appeared in the pages of the ,leisure ,hour and the ,sunday at ,home4 ,their publication in a collected form having been decided upon by others1 it only remained for me1 by careful revision and excision1 to render them as little unworthy as might be of starting for themselves in the wide world4 ,i shall not say that ,i am sorry that they are thus sent forth on their humble mission4 ,indeed1 ,i am glad4 8,brief life is here our portion03--and surely the wish is one natural to all earnest hearts1 that our work for our ,master in this sad and sinful world should not have its term together with the quick ending of our short day's labour here3--and a book has the possibility of a longer life than that of a man4 ,the ,night cometh1 when none can work2 how sweet1 if it might be1 that when the day is ended1 when the warfare1 for us1 is over1 we may have left some strong watchwords1 or some comfortable and cheering utterances1 still ringing in the ears of those who stepped into our place in the unbroken ranks4 ,yes1 the evening soon falls on the field2 the day is brief1 nor fully employed2 inanimate things seem to have an advantage over us2 streams flow on1 and mountains stand2 8,while we1 the brave1 the mighty1 and the wise1 ,we men1 who1 in our morn of youth1 defied ,the elements1 must vanish3--be it so6 ,enough1 if something from our hands have power ,to live1 and act1 and serve the future hour40 ,and ,i may be permitted to hope that possibly these meditations may have such power and perform such1 service in their modest way4 ,they have but the ambition of a flower that looks up to cheer1 or a bird's note that tranquilly1 amid storms1 continues a simple melody from the heart of its tree4 ,they will1 like these1 be easily passed by1 but1 like these1 may have a message for hearts that will look and listen4 ,there is certainly1 in the present age1 a want of writing that shall rest and brace the mind2 of meditative writing of a tendency merely holy and practical1 rather shunning than plunging into controversy3--not the cry of the angry or startled bird1 but its evening and morning orisons rather4 ,a contemplative strain2 one linked with things of earth1 and hallowing them--one heard beside 8the common path that common men pursue03--one rising from the common work-a-day experiences1 joys1 and pains--rising from these and carrying them up with it heavenward1 until even earth's exhalations catch the light of an unearthly glory4 ,we want more of this spiritual rest2 more of this standing apart from the perturbations of the day2 more of retirement and retired thought--thought that shall leave the throng1 with its absorbed purpose and pushing and jostling1 always eager1 often angry2 and having secured a lonely standing-point apart from it all1 become better able to judge of the real truth and importance1 also of the just relation of things4 ,i cannot claim to have done more than make a slight attempt towards the supply of this want4 ,nay1 ,i would rather lay claim not to have attempted4 ,this is the age of effort and strain2 it were well that thought were sometimes permitted to be natural1 spontaneous1 and simply expressive of that which the heart's meditations have laid by in store4 ,a stream thus welling up will want the precision and the single aim of the artificial jet1 but it will have its modest use and value to cheer and to refresh lowly grasses1 and perhaps to water the roots of loftier growths in its vagaries and meanderings4 ,in these times men will be held nothing if not controversial2 and rival parties will skim the book for shibboleths before they read or throw it by4 ,assuredly fixed principles and definite teaching are 7if ever at one time more than another7 of special importance in the present day2 and ,i am not one who think it well to blow both hot and cold at pleasure4 ,only ,i would ask1 is there absolute need that we be always blowing either8 may we not sometimes be permitted simply to breathe8 ,there are occasions on which ,i find myself compelled to blow one or the other1 but ,i grudge the good breath spent in the exertion1 and prefer to return to the normal state of even respiration4 ,a story1 told of ,archbishop ,leighton's youth1 is to the point3--8,in a synod he was publicly reprimanded for not #8preaching up the times4' #8,who1' he asked1 #8does preach up the times8' ,it was answered that all the brethren did it4 #8,then1' he rejoined1 #8if all of you preach up the times1 you may surely allow one poor brother to preach up ,christ ,jesus and eternity4'0 ,no doubt1 we must be militant here on earth1 militant against every form of error--old error undisguised1 and old error in a new dress2 but the more need that we should secure breathing times when we may sheathe the biting sword and lay the heavy armour by4 ,perhaps many with whom we war1 or from whom we stand aloof in suspicion1 would be found1 when the vizors were raised1 to be brothers1 and henceforth warriors by our side4 ,one word as to the title of this book4 8,the ,harvest of a ,quiet ,eye40 ,this has always been a favourite line with me1 and now ,i take it to describe my unpretentious volume1 though this be rather a handful gleaned than a harvest got in4 ,with some people this gleaning by the way would be contemned1 in their single-eyed advance upon some goal2 with some it is a thing continual and habitual1 this instinctive gathering and half-unconscious storing of hints and touches of wayside beauty--a process so well described in ,wordsworth's verses4 ,to have an eye for the wide pictures and slight studies of ,nature2 to gather them up1 in solitary walks which thus are not lonely2 to lay them by1 together with the heart's deeper thoughts1 its associations1 meditations1 and reminiscences2--this is to fashion common things into a beauty which1 to the fashioner at least1 may be a joy for ever4 8,to see the heath-flower withered on the hill1 ,to listen to the woods' expiring lay1 ,to note the red leaf shivering on the spray1 ,to mark the last bright tints the mountain stain1 ,on the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way1 ,and moralise on mortal joy and pain10 --this has been with me the secondary occupation of many a walk1 solitary or in company4 ,a rosy sunbeam slanting down a bank1 and catching the stems of the ferns and the tops of the grasses2 a coral twist of briony berries2 a daisy in ,december2--the eye would be caught1 and the train of grave or anxious musing intermitted without being broken off1 by the ever-allowed claim of ,nature's silent poetry4 ,and often the deeper meaning of such poetry would run parallel with the mind's thought--sometimes suggest for it a new path4 8,few ears of scattered grain40 ,though this be all my harvest1 yet if that be grain at all which has been collected1 it may have its use4 ,he who with a very little fed a great multitude1 has a ministry for even our humble handfuls4 ,at ,his feet be this laid3 may ,he accept and bless it1 and deign to refresh and hearten by its means some few at least of those who1 faint and weary1 are following ,him in the wilderness of this world6 ,illustration ,,the ,,old ,,year ,,and ,,the ,,new4 ,illustration ,a ,happy ,new ,year6 ,words repeated by how many myriads1 in how many zones--tropic1 temperate1 frigid1 wherever the ,english tongue is spoken6 ,words said commonly with more of meaning and sincerity than fall to the lot of many almost-of-course salutations4 ,words in which there is a shade of melancholy1 and a gleam of gladness2 a lingering of regret1 with the very new birth of anticipation4 8,a ,happy ,new ,year40 ,ah1 but it is not unlike parting with an old friend1 the saying good-bye to the ,old ,year4 ,and it seems unkind to turn from him who has so long dwelt with us1 and to take up too jauntily with a new friend4 ,he had his faults3 but1 at any rate1 we know them2 and those of the new-comer have yet to be discovered4 ,and his virtues seem to stand out in bolder relief1 now that we feel that we shall never see him again4 ,such experiences1 too1 we have had together6 we have been sad and merry in company1 and the days of our past society come with a warm rush to our heart3-- 8,though his eyes are waxing dim1 ,and though his foes speak ill of him1 ,he was a friend to me40 ,and so we keep hold still of his hand1 loth1 very loth indeed to part--as we sit in silence by the flickering fire1 and listen to the sudden bursts and sinking of the bells4 ,it is our habit--7,i speak in the name of myself1 and of many of my readers7--it is an immemorial custom with us1 to assemble1 all that can do so1 in the old home1 from which we have at different times taken wing--to gather together there again1 on the last night of the ,old ,year4 ,i have heard the plan objected to1 but ,i never heard any objections that to my mind seemed weighty ones4 ,true1 the gaps that must come from time to time1 are perhaps most of all brought prominently1 sadly before us1 at such a gathering as this4 ,we miss the husband1 the brother1 the sweet girl-daughter1 the little one's pattering feet--ah1 sorely1 sorely then6 ,last year the familiar face was here1 and now1 now1 far away1 under the white sheet of snow4 ,this is sad1 but it is not a mere unstarlit night of gloom4 ,nay1 ,i maintain that1 to those who look at it rightly1 more and brighter stars of comfort shine out then than at other times to compensate for the deepening dark4 ,there is the comfort of sympathy1 and of seeing in all surrounding faces how the lost one was loved4 ,but1 especially1 it seems as though1 when all are met again1 he may not be far away from the circle that was so unbroken upon earth3-- 8,nor count me all to blame if ,i ,conjecture of a stiller guest1 ,perchance1 perchance1 among the rest1 ,and1 though in silence1 wishing joy40 ,and most of all1 there is the old-fashioned1 but ever new comfort--balm1 indeed1 of ,gilead1 for every bereaved heart4 8,i would not have you to be ignorant1 brethren1 concerning them which are asleep1 that ye sorrow not1 even as others which have no hope4 8,for if we believe that ,jesus died and rose again1 even so them also which sleep in ,jesus will ,god bring with him40 ,and these home gatherings1 yearly growing more incomplete1 and yearly increasing1 lead the heart to glad thought of that reunion hereafter1 in that ,house of our ,father in which the mansions are many1 the ,home1 one4 ,well1 you are gathered1 my friend and reader1 you and your dear ones1 about your father's fireside on this last night of the ,old ,year4 ,the hours have stolen on3 at ten o'clock the servants came in1 and the last family prayers have been offered up1 and the last thanksgiving of the assembled household for this year2 and the chamber candlesticks have been set out1 and the father has drawn his chair near the fire1 and another log cast upon it crackles and flashes2 and each and all announce the intention of seeing the ,old ,year out and the ,new ,year in4 ,cheery talk1 reminiscent talk1 pensive talk1 thankful talk2 a little silence4 ,the wind flaps against the window1 and throws against it a handful of the ,old ,year's cast-off leaves4 ,the clock on the mantelpiece gives eleven sharp1 clear tings4 ,the year has but an hour to live4 ,and now the wind brings up a clear ring of bells2 and then sinks1 that the ,old ,year may die in peace1 and his requiem be well heard over the waking land4 ,but an hour to live6 ,and the burden of depression that ever comes with the exceeding sweetness of bells1 loads1 grain after grain1 the descending scale of your spirits4 ,it is a solemn time1 a time for quiet3 a time in which it is well to leave even the dear faces1 and to get you apart alone with ,god4 ,so you steal away from the fireside blaze2 and ascend the creaking stairs1 and enter your own room2 and close the door1 even as a dear ,friend long ago advised2 and offer the last worship of the year--confessions1 supplications1 intercessions1 praises4 ,you go over the dear names1 sweet beads of the heart's rosary1 telling them one by one to ,god1 with their several wants and needs4 ,you mention once more the special blessings to them and to yourself of the past year4 ,you put1 once more1 all the future for them and for you into that kind1 wise ,father's hand2 and you feel rested then1 and at peace4 ,a few words read1 for the last time this year1 in the ,book of books2 and now there is yet a little space for quiet thought about the dying year1 before his successor enters at the door4 ,and it is then1 as you sit pensively before the dancing fire1 alone in your silent room--while the bell music now comes in bursts1 and now dies in whispers--that a sort of abstract of many thoughts that have hovered about you all day is summoned up before your mind4 ,it is the hour of soft regret1 helped1 ,i say1 by those merry1 melancholy bells1 which 8,swell up and fail1 as though a door ,were shut between you and the sound40 ,you have had your sad times in the year that is so nearly dead2 you have shed your bitter tears2 you have had your lonely hours1 your weariness of this unsatisfying1 disappointing world4 ,unkindness1 estrangement1 bereavement1 intense solitariness of the spirit1 when it is conscious that not another being than the ,creator can ever understand1 far less supply1 its want1 or heal its woe--these experiences1 these wearing1 shaping1 refining operations of the kind ,father are part of your memories of the dying year4 ,while their bitterness was present with you1 you would have said that it was impossible that you could ever regret to part with the year that brought them4 8,ring out10 you would have said1 8ring out1 wild bells1 this unkind and bitter year2 this year that hath brought a blight over my life2 this year that hath dispelled the dreams of youth1 and changed into a wilderness that which did blossom as the rose4 ,ring out1 and let this hard year die4 ,fleet1 hours and days and weeks and months1 and set a distance between me and what ,i long to call the past4 ,ring out1 wild bells1 to the wild sky2 gladly would ,i say now1 even now1 while ,i listened to you-- 8,the year is dying--let it die60 ,but those hours of bitterness are now1 even now1 of the past4 ,that sharp pain1 or that weary ache1 is dulled1 perhaps removed4 ,perhaps you have learned ,god's lesson in it1 and can thank ,him1 though the ache still dwells in the heart's heart2 at any rate1 the ,old ,year is passing away2 the sad ,old ,year1 the glad ,old ,year2 on the whole--yes1 on the whole1 the dear ,old ,year4 ,he is with you but for a few minutes more2 he has come to say good-bye4 ,who does not unbend at such a time8 ,in all the friendships1 in all the ties of life1 there comes up surely all the warmth1 all the kindly feeling of the heart1 when the time comes which is to end that connection for ever4 ,there may have been some old grudges1 discontents1 heart-burnings1 jealousies1 disappointments4 ,but they are forgotten now1 and the eyes have a kindly light1 and the lips a tender word1 and the hand a hearty shake1 when it has indeed come to saying good-bye4 ,and so with the ,old ,year1 whatever he has been to us1 whatever little disagreements we may have had1 whatever heart-burnings1 they are not much remembered now4 ,it is a friend that is leaving you1 you are not glad to part with him2 good-bye1 ,old ,year1 good-bye4 ,another regretful thought1 as the twilight flickers and dances on the blind1 and those bells still dance hand-in-hand1 row after row1 close up to the window1 and still pass away hardly perceived into the distant fields4 ,the dying ,year brought some happiness1 some love2 this is now warm and safe in the nest of the heart2 the coming time may fledge it1 and it may1 some summer day1 take sudden wing and fly4 8,he brought me a friend1 and a true1 true love1 ,and the ,new ,year will take 'em away40 ,youth is especially the time1 perhaps1 for a sort of tender prophetic hint of the evanescence and passing away of hopes1 loves1 dreams4 ,it is indeed but a rose-leaf weight on the heart1 but a gossamer passing across the sun2 yet there it frequently is4 ,the iron hand of real crushing bereavement1 of actual anguish1 has never yet had the heart in its gripe1 to crush out all that more tender sentiment4 ,yet some soft1 faint shadows of darker hours do1 unaccountably1 fall early across the daisy fields of youth4 ,and thus in youth a certain foreshadowing1 in mature years a stern experience1 brings into the heart at this time a thoughtful dread of losing what we already have2 an undefinable apprehension of the future4 ,this time next year1 when the ,new ,year has become the ,old1 and its time has come round to say good-bye1 what changes may have come to us1 to our circle1 to our home6 ,will all be then as it is now8 ,will love1 perhaps newly-acquired1 still nestle in our heart1 or will it have even taken wings like a dove1 and have left it-- 8,like a forsaken bird's nest filled with snow08 ,oh1 who shall tell8 ,answer1 quiet heart1 that hast learned to trust in ,god2 and rest1 rest peacefully1 brightly1 hopefully1 on the answer that ,god hath taught thee6 ,but a quarter of an hour left now of the ,old ,year's life6 and the wind brings the bells in a sudden burst like rain against the window4 ,before you join the group downstairs there is yet another1 the saddest subject for regretful thought4 ,the past hours of the past days of the year nearly past might have been better spent1 oh1 how much so1 than they have been6 8,whatsoever thy hand findeth to do1 do it with thy might40 ,has that been the rule of the past year8 ,ah1 if it had been1 how different a year to look back upon6 ,how many opportunities neglected altogether6 ,how many but weakly and slackly employed6 ,opportunities that can never come again1 that1 employed or neglected1 are past now4 ,the word that might have done infinite good1 but that was not spoken--cowardice1 weak complaisance1 in a word1 worldliness1 ,god's enemy1 fettered the tongue3 excuses were ready1 though the heart did not believe them1 and ,god's soldier failed1 and the devil had the better of that field4 ,again1 actions1 that sloth or love of worldly ease caused to die out into smoke when they should have been eager leaping fire4 ,an opportunity came1 once and again1 of doing something for ,god4 ,the duty was a laborious one1 a painful one2 nevertheless1 however painful1 it must be done2 you had resolved that it should be done2 you had even sought help upon your knees for the work4 ,but mark the carnal coward spirit creeping over the spiritual manly resolve3 a friend came in1 a persuasion turned you2 your heart1 alas6 hardly really in earnest1 did not set itself as a flint to its purpose2 too willing to be turned aside1 it basely accepted the tempting excuse1 and laboured thereupon to believe itself really acquitted from the duty4 ,those opportunities passed away1 the noble action was not done1 the faithful word was never spoken1 the heart's reproaches became dull1 and the duty ceased its ceaseless gnawing at the conscience4 ,but amid the fitful sinking and falling of the firelight and the bells as you sit on the rug1 hand-shading your eyes--the neglected opportunity comes back1 with all its reproach1 even newer and keener than at the first2 back again to accuse your faint-heartedness1 to upbraid your lukewarm love2 to tell you of ,one who died for you1 and yet for whom you shirk the least distasteful labour1 the least taking up the cross1 and denying yourself to follow ,him4 ,and1 besides all this1 when you think of the whole past year1 even of its hours 7how few1 and how grudged67 when you have tried to do the work which the ,master put into your power to perform for ,him1 how conscious you are of the want of heart in even your best endeavours2 you cannot but feel how hard the world's votaries have been working for their master1 and how slackly you have been labouring for your ,master and only ,saviour--how they have been running1 with eyes fixed on the goal2 and how you have been hobbling and limping1 looking behind1 and on this side and on that1 not with single purpose1 pressing towards the mark--ah1 no6 ,and you think1 then1 what this life might have been--might be4 ,a life that looked straight forward1 that turned not to the right hand nor to the left1 that paused for no alluring of pleasure1 for no constraining of business-- 8,this way and that dividing the swift mind10 and wasting its energy and powers4 ,a life that set ,god first1 utterly first2 that shouldered aside the world's jostling1 distracting importunities2 that left the little concerns1 the little loves1 the little jealousies of this brief life1 staring after its eager1 swift1 stedfast advance1 whenever they would have interposed to hinder it4 ,a life that really and in good earnest1 not half-heartedly and in pretence1 should leave all to follow ,christ4 ,something of the unflinching1 unswerving1 unpausing persistency of those old ,jesuits2 only in the service of ,christ1 and not in that of the ,pope and the ,inquisition4 ,you think of a ,st4 ,paul1 and his onward1 onward still1 8in weariness and painfulness1 in watchings often1 in hunger and thirst1 in fastings often1 in cold and nakedness10 and you think of your lagging1 loitering----6 ,ah1 well1 that is best3 on your knees once more1 for pardon and for grace--grace to love ,him more and serve ,him better in the year so near at hand6 ,god shall wipe away all those tears that love for ,him made to flow1 and the blessed ,saviour's perfect righteousness shall hide all our vile and miserable rags2 yet even the saved1 we can almost fancy1 will wish with a feeling akin to regret1 to have loved the blessed ,lord more2 and he who has gained but five pounds will surely wish that it had been ten4 ,for our opportunities1 it often seems to me1 are such as angels might long to have4 ,where all are serving ,god1 and we have no longer a sinful nature dragging us back1 nor a glittering world around us1 nor a subtle tempter at our ear--it will seem little1 methinks1 to serve ,god then and there4 ,but now1 and here1 in a world lying in wickedness1 where the more part are not on ,christ's side1 but rather leagued with or deserters to the devil1 the world1 and the flesh--oh1 what an ,abdiel opportunity to stand up1 a speaking1 living protest in life's least and greatest thought1 word1 and act2 a burning and a shining light1 reflecting the beams of the ,sun of ,righteousness in a dark and naughty world6 ,ah1 may this quiet hour of thought1 of regretful meditation1 by ,god's grace1 be the point on which you have collected your powers and energies for a forward spring1 that shall not grow slack through eternity6 ,illustration ,five minutes to twelve now4 ,the hour of ,regret is near its close4 ,the hour of ,anticipation is close at hand4 ,the ,old ,year's bells are running down1 and the ,old ,year's life is passing with them4 ,five minutes more4 ,first you bow your head1 and adore the ,almighty and the ,all-loving--,god the ,father1 ,god the ,son1 and ,god the ,holy ,ghost--for the ,past1 for the ,present1 and for the ,future4 ,then you go downstairs1 according to old custom1 to join the rest of the dear circle at the open window1 and to listen for the ceasing of the bells4 ,they are gathered at the window1 standing quietly and thoughtfully2 those that are nearest and dearest linked with loving arms2 they are silent1 or speak in a subdued tone4 ,you might almost think that they were indeed standing by some bedside1 watching the last breathing of a friend2 for a solemn thing it is1 the passing from one to another of these stepping-stones in the brook of life1 and seeing the other shore seem to gather a more distinct shape through the mist of the future4 ,you join the group4 ,a cold1 moist air1 full of films of snow1 comes out of the dark night into the warm1 bright room4 ,the bells are running away2 you might almost fancy them the sands1 the last few grains of the ,old ,year's life4 ,suddenly they stop1 and in the breathing silence a deep clang falls from the church tower1--another1--ten more yet1--and the ,old ,year is dead4 8,a happy ,new ,year6--a happy ,new ,year60 ,warm kisses1 and hearty shakes of the hand1 and1 like the crash of a great breaker that has seemed to pause for a moment in the air1 down bursts the glad1 the melancholy ring of bells again1 and floods the bare shore of silence1--still lingering1 seething1 receding1 gathering into new bursts again1 and yet again4 ,a happy ,new ,year6 ,the ,past is past1 the ,old ,year is dead1 the hour of ,regret is gone by1 the time of ,anticipation is here2 not good-bye now1 but welcome2 not lingering retrospect1 but earnest advance4 ,life is too short for long mourning2 not much time can be spared to meditate by the fresh grave of the past4 ,forward1 towards the unknown future3 grasp its opportunities1 its sorrows1 its joys1 to be woven into some fabric for the ,master's use6 ,on1 towards the untried future1 bravely1 trustfully1 hopefully1 cheerfully2 but remember you can never overtake it4 ,it changes into the present even as you come up with it2 and it is now1 or never1 that you must be serving ,god4 8,trust no future1 howe'er pleasant1 ,let the dead past bury its dead2 ,act1 act in the living present1 ,heart within1 and ,god o'erhead40 ,but good night to all1 or good morning--which8--and then upstairs1 and tired1 to bed4 ,when you wake1 things will go on much as usual1 though the ,old ,year be dead1 and sentry ,january have relieved sentry ,december4 ,only for a time you will find yourself dating still #ah--1 and1 if untidy1 you will have to smear1 if tidy1 to erase1 the last figure1 and substitute the number of your new friend4 99 99 99 99 99 ,anticipation4 ,this is especially the dower of the young1 if ,regret be often the possession of the old4 ,what a strange1 glorious thing a ,new ,year is to the child6 ,little of the feelings that ,i have been describing find place in the breast of the boy and girl1 that were fast asleep and warm in their beds1 while you and the bells were at conference3 little of such musings trouble them1 as they bound out of bed in the morning1 and scuttle off in their night-gowns1 patter patter1 in a race1 to be the first to wish father and mother a happy ,new ,year4 ,they are growing out of childhood3 that is the joy for them3 another of those vast periods has passed4 ,happy ,spring1 that does but long to shed and cast away her myriad white blossoms2 and to rush on towards the full-grown ,summer3--unknowing in the least1 of the sober1 misty1 tear-strung1 if fruitful1 ,autumn boughs6 ,a happy ,new ,year1 little ones6 ,far be it from me to strip ,spring boughs in order to imitate the ,autumn which they cannot know6 ,god keep you1 my children2 ,god teach you1 and ,god bless you6 99 99 99 99 99 ,a little farther on4 ,anticipation is glowing warmly in the heart of the young man and the young woman4 ,the time of childhood is left behind4 ,the time of independence1 the time of manhood1 is drawing near3 that time which shall transform into realities the great things1--the noble1 world-stirring deeds1 that have hitherto been only schemes4 ,that time when the loves that are budding in the heart shall burst into exquisite blossoms1 and never a frost nip them1 and never a rude wind carry at unawares a loose petal away4 ,a happy ,new ,year4 ,the heart accepts this wish1 fearlessly1 without doubt1 before the strife2 before the rough work of a field or two in the scarce-tried warfare of life has smirched the glittering armour1 and shorn the gay plumes1 and changed the song before the battle into hard labouring sobs1 in the stern hand-to-hand tussle with sin and with sorrow1 with disappointment and dismay4 ,before many a scheme overturned1 many a brave effort fallen dead as bullets against a stone wall1 many a seeming hopeful struggle forced back by the sheer dead weight of evil1 has made the heart sick and the knees to tremble1 and brought an early weariness and hint of despair over the amazed ,recruit2 a touch of that felt by the ,sage of old3 8,it is enough3 evil is too strong for me3 ,i can do no more than others have done before3 my schemes have come to nothing1 my bubbles have burst3 now let me die40 ,but the ,recruit becomes the ,veteran1 and is content to wait1 where he was once ready to despair4 ,he does not hope so much1 and therefore is not so much dismayed2 he relies now not so much on earthquake efforts1 as on the still small voice uttered to the world by the life which is given to ,god4 ,he is content to labour1--and to leave it to the ,master to give the increase4 ,yes1 the young heart1 even when lit with heavenly love1 and full of great designs for ,god1 must submit to the overthrow of the bright visions that anticipation set before it4 ,how much more1 when its fire was lit from earth2 and earth's loves1 or fame1 or pleasure1 or power1 were the prizes for which life's battle was to be fought4 ,vanity and vexation of spirit1 disappointment1 dismay1 despair2 these are the ruins that shall be won for ,moscows1 if that battle be fought to the end6 ,a happy ,new ,year4 ,that glad wish of youth may come to sound1 to the man1 nothing but bitter irony4 ,but much of the early hope1 and more than the early peace1 comes back to the veteran worker for ,god4 8,who1 but the ,christian1 through all life ,that blessing may prolong8 ,who1 through the world's sad day of strife1 ,still chant his morning song80 ,a happy ,new ,year1 young man and young woman6 ,god grant it you1 in the one true sense of the word4 ,it need not be a freedom from sorrow3 this is an ennobling1 useful discipline1 that ,i may not wish you to avoid4 ,but1 to be happy1 it must be free from sloth and wilful sin4 ,illustration ,look out from your window again1 at the snow sheet which has silently1 deeply1 fallen upon the earth4 ,let it be very early in the morning1 while the world is asleep and the broad moon and the glittering stars watch alone over the smooth1 sparkling1 white face of the land4 ,not a footstep1 so far as you see1 has impressed the smooth1 pure snow2 not a dark cart-track has yet left a long stain on the spotless road4 ,no thawing penitential drippings have made dark wells in it here and there2 no rude sweeping has piled the snow in stained heaps hither and thither by the path4 ,all is yet pure1 untouched1 undefiled4 ,this is the ,new ,year upon which we have entered1 as we look at it from the casement of the ,old ,year1 before yet one step has been placed on its first moment4 ,all as yet unstained1 and white1 and calm4 ,for how short a time to remain so6 ,can we set our first step upon it without somewhat marring its virgin beauty8 ,and then the traffic1 the hurrying of many feet1 the crushing of many wheels2 thought1 word1 and deed1 too often unwatched and unsanctified by prayer2 oh1 what a change soon1 and how short a time that purity and calm has lasted6 ,new ,year2 clean ,new ,year2 how dark1 how defiled1 how changed will you be1 when you also are now waxing old1 and ready to vanish away6 ,the white virgin opportunity all passed by1 leaving dark1 dreary1 sodden fields1 and roads churned up into yellow mud4 ,the clinging spotless moments--flakes that1 in innumerable combination1 made up the great stainless carpet of the untrodden ,new ,year2 for them there will be many a trickling rivulet of penitential tears2 and the steam and mist of heavy sighs that go up to ,god because of life's work too faintly1 slackly done4 ,well then1 that is well4 ,better1 of course1 if this could have been1 that the pure year had remained unstained4 8,my little children1 these things write ,i unto you1 that ye sin not40 ,but well1 if we are indeed humbly striving1 and if hearty repentance1 and a true1 lively1 cleansing faith follow upon our many1 many sad failings1 faults1 and shortcomings4 ,for1 sweet words6-- 8,if any man sin1 we have an ,advocate with the ,father1 ,jesus ,christ the righteous3 and ,he is the propitiation for our sins40 ,and1 glorious thought6 if we are indeed loving and seeking after purity and holiness1 striving because of the hope within us1 to purify ourselves1 even as ,he is pure--then know this1 we shall not love1 and seek1 and strive in vain4 8,when ,he shall appear1 we shall be like ,him40 ,think of that6 ,so that1 when our last hour comes1 and the bellringers are ready for us1 to ring out the ,old ,year of this life1 and to ring in the ,new ,year of the next2 and we are looking 7our near and dear ones still by us7 out of the casement of the ,old ,year of ,,time1 what may we then see8 ,there shall be stretched out before us the immeasurable unstained tract of the ,new ,year of ,,eternity1 unsullied1 spotless1 pure and white2 and we need not then be afraid to enter upon that4 ,the blood of ,jesus1 which cleanseth from all sin1 will have so cleansed us1 that even our footprints will not stain nor mar it4 ,the spots and the defilements1 the tears and the sighs1 they will lie all behind us then1 in the ,old ,year which is dead4 ,ring out1 oh1 ringers1 then--toll not1 but ring out the year of sadness and of sin1 of weak strivings1 cold hearts1 and dull love6 ,ring out the year of partings and estrangements1 of death and tears6 ,and ring in--oh1 that it might be so for every reader of this chapter6--ring with none but joy-notes1 ring in that everlastingly ,,happy ,,new ,,year6 ,illustration ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,threshold4 ,illustration ,i call ,february the ,threshold of the ,year4 ,in ,january we were indoors1 beside the fire1 and there seemed little of new and various to tempt us out4 ,but ,february comes1 and with it the first dream of change1 the first scarce-heard whisper of the ,spring4 ,the faint possibility of a snowdrop1 hinting its yet undrooping white through a peaked green film2 the distant hope of a primrose bud1 peeping--with yellow point1 for all the world just like that of a coloured crayon--out of the young1 crisp1 green leaves that are crowning the limp1 ragged ones of last year2 the wild dream of a find of those sweet buds--little geologists' hammers1 with white or violet noses--among their round seeds and drilled leaves1 in some warmer corner2 such1 summonings as these woo the steps to the threshold on a strayed mild day late in ,february4 ,the black1 soaked trees have1 we find1 taken a warm hue of life2 the dull willow bushes have the gleam of golden hair2 the first soft air of the year comes to our hearts with a gush of promises2 flowers and leaves seem possible to the heart waking from its winter stagnation2 trees and men alike feel a new life1 a fresh impulse4 ,even though we have become hard wood and wrinkled rind1 our sap is1 nevertheless1 stirred3 8,and even in our inmost ring ,a pleasure is discerned1 ,from those blind motions of the ,spring1 ,that show the year is turned40 ,and1 perhaps1 we are content to pause on the threshold1 and lean against the lintel1 and survey the smile close at hand1 and the gleam far away2 and1 while the robin draws near in a cheerful1 not to say jovial1 sympathy with our humour1 and the faint branchy shadows move tenderly on the glistening lawn1 to muse on the year's threshold1 concerning the programme that the wind is whispering among the bushes1 and the promises that the warm air is wafting into the heart4 99 99 99 99 99 ,musings on the ,threshold4 ,such musings might take many an obvious high road1 or quaint turn1 we must feel1 as we stand on the threshold of our house1 and of the year1 looking out upon the herald-gleam1 and fanned by what seems a ,spring air2 an air that summons sweet thoughts of ,march1 ,april1 ,may--scarce ,june yet2 certainly not ,october or ,november4 ,on the threshold of the ,spring2 this we would rather say1 and forget that it is really the threshold of the year1--that thing composed of smiles and tears1 of gleams and showers1 of full green boughs and bare sticks1 of promises and disappointments1 of growth and life1 and decay and death4 ,for instance1 with regard to these threshold musings1 how often1 ere we shall have passed on so far in life's journey1 that we stand on the threshold of the next state1--how often do we pause for awhile upon some threshold1 and lean back against the door and muse4 ,on the threshold of joy1 or on the threshold of misery2 on the threshold of hope1 or on the threshold of despair2 on the threshold of school1 or of the holidays2 on the threshold of wearing tail-coats2 of being flogged or expelled2 of gaining the three head prizes of the school1--these gave musings to some in early days4 ,later1 on the threshold of a pluck1 or of a double first-class2 on the threshold of first love2 and--oh1 the dim1 delicious look-out1 and long1 ecstatic musings6--on the threshold of being married2 of parting with some beloved one1--and ah1 how a stern hand seems to drag you forth from your contemplation here1 when your musings were scarce begun6 ,on the threshold of the first fall from purity or honour1--and1 alas1 the dismal journey that shall follow upon the threshold left1 and the first step taken6 ,on the threshold of repentance2 and angel-eyes watch eagerly1 and angel-hands poise above their golden harps2 and at the first step forward a ringing rapture peals up into the trembling roof of ,heaven4 8,musings on the ,threshold03--are there not then1 highways and by-paths which such musings might well take8 ,but it is time for us to choose our present road2 and1 to do so1 we will even go back to the beginning of a certain well-trodden way1 upon which every one of us is found1 some far back1 some near the middle1 some tottering on close to the goal4 ,on the threshold of ,life4 ,yes1 once upon a time we stood there3 and the ,spring air was rife with half-shaped songs and indistinct delicious whispers2 and we knew that the hedges and copses were full of all sweet promise-buds2 and there were songs in the distance1 and an interminable thronging of inexhaustible flowers2 and life seemed too sweet1 when the first blossom that was our own was grasped in our hand1 and the stir of life growing conscious and intelligent first made the heart glow and kindle1 as we paused musing upon the ,threshold1 and looked out upon the sweet1 strange opening year of ,life4 ,ah well1 the step soon has to be taken1 that marks the beginning of separation from those lovely1 unreal dreams4 ,there is ,solomon's way of leaving them--much labour1 and little profit1 and a bitter heart at the end4 ,and there is that other way of leaving them--the hearing once and again1 and gradually heeding1 an oft-repeated solemn call1 8,follow ,me40 ,out of the sunshine into the shadow2 away from dreamy threshold musings1 into the rough and stony highway2 drop the flowers and clasp the cross3 for how run the instructions given long ago1 and given to all2 given by precept1 and given by example8 8,whosoever will come after ,me1 let him deny himself1 and take up his cross1 and follow ,me40 ,how true of those who--at last1 and after long hesitation--take the first step1 and leave the threshold of this world's young dreams1 and begin to follow ,him2 how true that 8little did they know to what they pledged themselves1 when1 in that first season of awe1 they arose and followed ,his voice4 ,but now they cannot go back1 for they are too nigh to the unseen ,one1 and ,his words have sunk deeply within them4 ,day by day they are giving up their old waking dreams2 things they have pictured out and acted over in their imaginations and their hopes1 one by one they let them go1 with saddened but willing hearts4 ,they feel as if they had fallen under some irresistible attraction1 which is hurrying them into the world unseen2 and so in truth it is4 ,he is fulfilling to them ,his promise3 #8,and ,i1 if ,i be lifted up from the earth1 will draw all men unto ,me4' ,their turn is come at last1 that is all4 ,before1 they had only heard of the mystery2 now1 they feel it4 ,he has fastened on them ,his look of love1 even as on ,peter and on ,mary2 and they cannot choose but follow1 and in following ,him1 altogether forget both themselves and all their visions of life40 ,how strange it is1 verily1 after we have for many years now1 followed that ,voice1--followed it1 no doubt1 with many a declension1 many a wavering1 many a wayward swerving1 and almost turning back2 yet1 on the whole1 followed it1 and that with less of timidity1 and more of implicitness1 as experience justified hope2--how strange1 about midway in the journey1 to look back at life's threshold6 ,the ,january of infancy had past2 the ,february of awakening1 conscious life had come1 and we came out from our dormant state1 and paused upon the threshold1 and looked forth upon the world4 ,and now we look back1 and with a strange1 wondering interest1 contemplate that single lonely figure that was ourself1 leaning in wrapt musing2 the small home behind it2 and before1 the siren murmurs1 and warm1 flattering airs of the fairy1 enticing ,future4 ,the magic dreams1 the mirage-reveries1 the profuse promises1 the unshaped hopes1 the just-caught notes of some divine1 distant melody3 all the flowers to blossom2 and all the birds to come4 ,ah1 what sweet1 wild musings were those6 ,far away we seemed to catch a gleam of that 8,light that never was on sea or land1 ,the consecration1 and the poet's dream40 ,and even tears had their sparkle1 and melancholy its charm1 and death its unreal beauty4 8,to think of passing bells1 of death and dying-- ',twere good1 methought1 in early youth to die1 ,so loved1 lamented3 in such sweet sleep lying1 ,the white shroud all with flowers and rosemary ,stuck o'er by loving hands40 ,thus1 we remember1 once stood that figure1 solitary in its own individuality1 upon the threshold1 and looking out upon life4 ,and1 contemplating our present self1 we feel that it is 8the same1 yet not the same40 ,how changed all has become6 ,it is not only nor chiefly that flowers are less valued than fruit-germs1 or sparkling glass than rough1 hereafter-to-be-cut diamonds2 it is not only1 nor so much1 that the world's promises and life's young dreams have failed us1 as that we have turned away from them4 ,that our taste has altered2 that the things that then were all1 are now nearly nothing2 that what once rose before us a golden mirage1 seems now as but bare sand2 that what seemed gain1 would be now held as loss2 that what seemed too rare1 and delicious1 and high1 and exquisite1 and sublime1 for more than trembling hope1 has now become as refuse in our thought4 ,illustration ,time was1 when other thoughts and purposes than these which now possess us1 held sway in our hearts4 ,time was1 when we stood on the threshold1 dazzled1 and wondering1 in a delicious dream1 which of all the sublime or lovely paths that opened before us we should pursue4 ,time was1 when at last we began to heed a kind1 but still small ,voice1 that had from the first been speaking to us2 when a grave ,eye that had from the first watched us1 at last fixed our attention4 ,time was1 when we were compelled as it were1 at first with hesitating1 reluctant step1 to follow that ,voice and that ,look--away from those bright gay paths1 or grand aspiring ways1 down a lowly1 narrow way1 strewn with thorns and stones1 and sloping into a mist-hid valley4 ,time was--if we followed still--that the disturbing1 distracting sounds and sights above being left behind and hushed1--the mist lifted1 and1 lo6 the valley was a pleasant valley1 an abode of 8peace that the world cannot give03 and if the way were still rough sometimes1 there were undying flowers of unearthly beauty here and there2 and if the lark was away1 the nightingale was singing2 and it was answered to us1 yea1 our heart returned answer to itself1 that1 albeit narrow and strait at first1 the name of that way was1 in very truth1 the ,way of ,pleasantness and the ,path of ,peace4 ,ah1 yes1 if once we1 with purpose of heart1 set ourselves to follow ,his guiding1 how ,god draws us on6 ,we clutch at this1 and would rest at that2 and surely this is the ,chief good1 and the ,ideal beauty8 ,but no2 the early flowers depart1 and the late1 and we leave the threshold and wander on2 and ,february goes1 and ,march goes1 and even ,june1 and ,august2 and sorrowfully and wonderingly we look up at ,god1 following ,him on through life1 even into the grave ,september1 and the hushed ,october1 and the tearful ,november2 and so into the winter of alienation from the world1 which death's snow comes to seal4 ,but ere this we have found out ,his meaning in life1 and the flowers of earth are no more regretted2 and there is no point at which we would choose to have rested1 now that we look back upon the past experiences and events of the journey2 and both our hands are laid in ,his1 and we look up with unutterable trust and ineffable love4 ,it was not so once3 8,i was not ever thus1 nor prayed that ,thou ,wouldst lead me on2 ,i loved to see and choose my path1 but now ,lead ,thou me on40 ,and then ,he has led you1 little by little1 with gentle steps1 hiding the full length of the way that you must tread1 lest you should start aside in fear1 and faint for weariness4 ,and as it has been1 so it must be2 onward you must go2 ,he will not leave you here2 there is yet in store for you more contrition1 more devotion1 more delight in ,him4 ,a few years hence1 and you will see how true these words are4 ,if by that time you have not forsaken ,him1 you will be nigher still1 walking in strange1 it may be solitary paths1 in ways that are 8called desert02 but knowing ,him1 as now you know ,him not1 with a fulness of knowledge1 and a bowing of heart1 and a holy self-renouncement1 and a joy that you are altogether ,his4 ,what now seems too much1 shall then seem all too little2 what too nigh1 not nigh enough to ,his awful cross4 ,oh1 how our thoughts change6 ,a few years ago1 and you would have thought your present state excessive and severe2 you would have shrunk from it then1 as at this time you shrink from the hereafter4 ,but now you look back1 and know that all was well4 ,in all your past life you would not have one grief the less1 or one joy the more4 ,it is all well4 ,and so it is1 then1 that we are led on from our ,february threshold1 on through the maturing1 decaying months1 until the silent ,winter comes4 ,and what then8 ,is it to be the same over again--the same promises and disappointments1 the same dreams and awakenings1 the same unreal glory at the threshold1 and the same gradual weaning from it on the journey8 ,not so4 ,to us the years are not repeated1 nor is the 8second life1 only the first renewed40 8,i know not1 oh1 ,i know not ,what joys await us there2 ,what radiancy of glory1 ,what bliss beyond compare40 ,but ,i love to wander1 nevertheless1 in my musings far beyond the journey to the ,land whither the journey is tending4 ,beyond this state of probation to that of fruition2 beyond striving1 to attainment2 beyond discipline1 to perfection2 beyond warfare1 to victory2 beyond labour1 to rest2 beyond constant slips and shortcomings1 and half-heartedness at best1 to stedfast holiness2 beyond the cross1 to the crown4 ,we are yet within doors3 oh1 what will open before us on the threshold of that next year6--when the first wonder of its ,january has passed1 and the amazed and almost dizzied soul has straightened and uncrumpled its wings1 and collected its powers1 and can calmly begin to understand its change1 and to muse on its future1 and to grasp the idea of the possession upon which it has come3 to anticipate the endless succession of amaranthine flowers1 ever increasing in glory throughout the months of ,eternity1 and the songs that shall ever throng more and more abundant and ecstatic1 and never migrate nor pass away6 ,on the ,threshold4 ,those in ,paradise are now musing on the threshold1 waiting for their full consummation and bliss both in body and soul1 waiting for that coming of the ,lord with regard to which they are still crying out1 8,how long80 and are bid to 8rest yet for a little season40 ,and so then they rest1 and wait upon the threshold1 and contemplate the mighty and magnificent panorama outspread before them as their ,future4 ,the ,voice is still there1 and the ,look2 and they wait its summons1 to leave the threshold1 and to follow once again4 ,but how different that following then6 ,how far other than of old that summons6 ,not to paths of humiliation and discipline1 and hills of difficulty1 and valleys of shadow1 but to realms of brightness and beauty unspeakable1 and to heights to which earth's ambitions never soared4 ,from the threshold of blessedness into the domain of glory2 from ,abraham's bosom to the throne of the ,lamb2 from a star to the ,sun in ,his strength4 ,illustration ,and so may we think of our dead that fell asleep in ,jesus1 as waiting upon that blessed threshold1 contemplating that ravishing prospect1 which is theirs1 and may be ours4 ,nor do we enough thus think of and realise the state of the departed4 ,the poisonous fungi of error have made us shy of the mushroom of truth4 8,the superstition of ages past has recoiled into the sadduceeism of to-day40 ,and so we1 the dying1 compassionate those who have begun to live1 and who stand upon the threshold of the yet higher and more perfect life of the resurrection4 ,let us think of them more nobly1 more worthily1 more truly4 ,let us not heap their burial with gloom2 let not our souls dwell with their bodies under the sodden clay4 ,they are changed1 but they are not lost2 they are 8still the same1 and yet are not what they were2 they have passed from the humiliation of the body to the majesty of the spirit4 ,the weakness1 and the littleness1 and the abasement of life are gone2 they are now excellent in strength1 full of heavenly light1 ardent with love1 above fallen humanity1 akin to angels40 8,blessed and happy dead6--great and mighty dead6 ,in them the work of the new creation is well-nigh accomplished2 what feebly stirs in us1 in them is well-nigh full4 ,they have passed within the vail1 and there remaineth only one more change for them1--a change full of a foreseen1 foretasted bliss4 ,how calm1 how pure1 how sainted are they now6 ,a few short years ago1 and they were almost as weak and poor as we2 burdened with the dying body we now bear about2 harassed by temptations1 often overcome1 weeping in bitterness of soul1 struggling with faithful1 though fearful hearts1 towards that dark shadow from which they shrank1 as we shrink now40 ,we on our threshold and they on theirs2 then let us think of them and of ourselves so4 ,we have left the threshold of life1 and are nearing the threshold of ,death1 or rather of the beginning of ,life indeed4 ,they behold the prospect at which we guess1 and which we burn to see4 ,but because it may be ours one day1 we are already sharers with them1 and our higher union is rather cemented than interrupted4 8,the unity of the saints on earth with the ,church unseen is the straitest bond of all4 ,hell has no power over it1 sin cannot blight it1 schism cannot rend it1 death itself can but knit it more strongly4 ,nothing is changed but the relations of sight3 like as when the head of a far-stretching procession1 winding through a broken1 hollow land1 hides itself in some bending vale1 it is still all one2 all advancing together2 they that are farthest onward in the way are conscious of their lengthened following2 they that linger with the last are drawn forward as it were by the attraction of the advancing multitude40 ,or1 in another figure1 beautifully has it been said1 that when the ,sun of ,righteousness passed out of sight1 the splendour of ,his hidden shining is reflected by ,his saints1 8till the night starts out full of silver stars40 8,in stedfast and silent course0 they pass on1 some disappearing below the horizon1 some resplendent in mid-heaven1 some just emerging from the other boundaries4 ,and when the last has arisen1 and some are yet sparkling in the blue vault1 the ,sun shall arise with sudden glory1 and they all shall render to ,him their light4 ,but until that time1 which no man knoweth1 neither the angels of heaven1 it is awaiting upon the threshold1 in mighty musing upon the glory yet to be revealed2 and1 8until all is fulfilled10 the desire of the ,church unseen is stayed with the 8white robes0 and the sound of the 8,bridegroom's voice40 ,let us comfort one another with these words and these thoughts4 ,and now thus have we mused upon the ,threshold1 beginning first with the threshold of the life that is expecting death1 and then soaring boldly to the threshold of the life that is expecting the ,resurrection4 ,we need reminding in this age that there are two sides to this expectation4 ,there is 8a certain fearful looking for of judgment and of fiery indignation10 as well as an ardent1 and eager1 and rapturous anticipation and longing for ,his coming who cometh quickly1 though ,he seem to tarry4 ,and it is well to ask1 when death ends our journey here1 upon which threshold shall we prefer to wait1 and which musing shall be our choice3 the dreadful looking-for of judgment1 or the ecstatic longing to hear that ,voice which once said1 8,follow ,me10 speak again to us1 even to us1 the incredible words--8,well done1 thou good and faithful servant3 enter thou into the joy of thy ,lord40 ,choose we1 my friends1 carefully1 prayerfully1 deliberately1 finally1 and at once2 for 8,behold1 now is the accepted time2 behold1 now is the day of salvation40 ,illustration ,,spring ,,days4 ,illustration 8,forth in the pleasing ,spring ,thy beauty walks1 thy tenderness and love4 ,wide flush the fields2 the softening air is balm2 ,echo the mountains round2 the forest smiles2 ,and every sense1 and every heart1 is joy40 ,what a delicious thing is the first real ,spring day6 ,a burst into a buttercup-field6 ,what a thing of mad enjoyment for the legs1 and eyes1 and hands1 and mind of the young human animal6 ,what a sweet time to think of1 in our sentimental moods1 now that we are growing old6 ,and yet1 in that time of fresh animal life1 there was not reflection enough to allow of deliberate and actual enjoyment of its hilarity and lightness of heart4 ,it welled up bubbling and singing with the gladness of a spring1 that yet is glad only because it is glad1 and not because it is pure and bright4 ,for it knows not yet of aught that is muddy and foul1 shallow and stagnant4 ,it knows not of drought1 and deadness1 and impurity1 and dulness1 and death4 ,how knows it1 therefore1 why it ought to be glad8 ,sing on1 sweet stream1 but you must be left to learn1 as you roll seawards1 into a sober old river1 why you used to sing as a bright untroubled stream4 ,so1 ,i suppose1 except for the impetus and rush of early life1 in its ,spring days1 before it has been checked here1 and wasted there1 and hemmed in1 and spread out1 and turned away1 and thwarted1 until its rush1 and song1 and glee have settled into a quiet1 useful soberness1 or into a foul stagnant pool that cannot often bear to call to mind those old pure1 careless days--except for that first impetus and rush1 ,i suppose it is more an absence of something than a presence of aught1 that makes the child's heart so glad4 ,anxious thought for soul and body of self and others2 disappointment1 regret1 estrangements1 remorse1 satiety1 failing powers2 none of these check the young limbs1 and the young lungs1 and the young heart1 as a sight of the brimming ,spring meadow bursts upon the enchanted young eyes1 and there is a shout1 and a scamper1 and a bound2 and lo6 the little naked legs are deep in green grass1 and yellow bobbing buttercups1 and starry radiant daisies4 ,i can't feel towards the buttercups and daisies exactly as ,i did in those very early days4 ,it is indeed a very primitive state of things1 when these are as gold and silver coins to the young eager grasping hand1 that would yet hold more when already by twos1 and ones1 and threes1 the white discs and yellow cups struggle out of the little space that the finger and thumb cannot quite close in4 ,you very soon get to slight these humble flowers2 and1 losing your easy content1 aim higher1 even at cowslips1 primroses1 and here and there an early purple orchis4 ,that is1 perhaps1 the most simple-hearted and easily-contented time of life1 which asks no more for its riches than both hands full of buttercups and daisies1 guineas and shillings bright and fresh coined from the mint of ,spring4 ,illustration ,i remember well a wide meadow shut in with tall hedges1 in which1 for a ,spring or two1 while we were young enough to enjoy them1 there was1 for my two sisters and myself1 a very scramble of such coins4 ,out on some mild ,april day1 when the sun shone brightly1 and the air was a growing air1 and the paths dry4 ,out with our governess1 we three1 for a walk4 ,a fortnight of soft ,april showers1 or warm damp days1 keeping us within the garden while the field was being dressed1 had prepared for us a surprise4 ,we ran our hoops along the dry paths1 until the winner of the race caught sight of that fair meadow4 ,through the white wicket-gate then1 the hoop thrown aside into the yielding grass1 and the three pairs of little hands were busy enough soon4 ,at first1 the aim was merely to pick what came to hand1 and quantity1 not quality1 was in demand4 ,but1 so soon do we begin to undervalue that which is abundant for that which is less easily attained1 in a little while we were busy after rarities2 mere white daisies were passed over1 and those with a 8crimson head0 were sought2 also1 ,i remember1 those with a scarlet jewel in the centre of the boss of gold4 ,cowslips were rare in the fields about us2 were anyhow rare at that early time of year4 ,fancy then our exultation1 if we should come upon a pale bent head1 the delicate trembling spotted yellow1 curving upwards towards the sheath of faint green4 ,the bound towards it2 the excitement of feeling the juicy crisp stalk break1 and then rushing away with the treasure6 ,i remember such a find now1 though ,i be far on in life beyond that early stage marked by that slight drooping flower4 ,but of course the daisies and buttercups1 even before 8whole summer fields were theirs by right10 soon lost their fascination1 even in those early simplest days1 before the advance of other rarer flowers4 ,we could pass the meadow soon1 without bounding into it1 on our way round the park wall on a violet expedition4 ,we could scent these out1 and would eagerly part the crowding leaves and the binding ivy-nets that hid them4 ,not much fear lest we should gather enough of them to risk dropping any from an over-filled hand4 ,still1 we mostly went home well content1 with a close-clipped neat dark-blue bunch in one hand1 with here and there a pure white prize1 or a large one merely purple tinged1 gleaming out of the dark4 ,these white- and purple-tinged violets1 you must know1 had become our prizes1 being rare1 found seldom indeed by the park wall1 but oftener on some mighty sandhills1 that towered above the road a little way beyond our daisy-field1 and seemed to bury the deep-lying road1 with its winding carriages and pigmy passengers4 ,out for a long walk now1 even to that deep chalk-pit1 where not one cowslip hung1 rare1 unique1 precious1 but hundreds1 nay thousands1 bent their pale yellow heads1 and scented the air with their sweet faint breath4 ,so juicily they snapped1 without that drawback which ,i deplore in primroses--the long sinew that a hasty picking leaves behind1 to the marring of the flower4 ,baskets we had1 trowels in them1 to collect some roots for the misused pieces of ground known as our gardens3 and woe betide an early orchis1 if we came across it4 ,nearly always1 after a long and patient digging1 when the final pull came1 a long blanched stalk1 with no root at the end1 would meet our disappointed eyes4 ,but of course the great thing was to collect unlimited flowers4 ,and really1 if you turned me loose into the ,bank of ,england1 into that room in which those aggravating fellows shovel about the gold in coal-scuttle scoops1 and bade me gather my fill1 ,i am sure the delight would be neither so fresh1 so sweet1 nor so wholesome1 as that entering unchecked upon the rich cowslip-wealth1 trembling all over the short turf of the sloping side of the chalk-pit which ended our expedition4 ,two principal objects had we in collecting these flowers--for as the year goes on1 even children seek use as well as beauty in their gettings2 first to make cowslip balls1 many and large1 when we got home2 next1 to make cowslip tea4 ,there is1 or was1 a keen delight in the former of these pursuits4 ,the excitement and delight of the first cowslip ball made is feverish and unsettling4 ,the long1 tight string upon which are hung the poor flowers with their tails pinched off2 the filling that string1 the tying it1 with here and there a cowslip tumbling out2 and then the playing with the sweet-scented soft toy1 till the room is littered with its scattered wealth1 these are things to remember even now4 ,but1 no doubt1 the great thing was the cowslip tea--allowed to us that night instead of milk-and-water2 and to be drunk in real teacups instead of mugs4 ,the solemn shredding the yellow crown out of its green calyx2 seated1 all three1 at our little low table with the deep rim2 the growing heap of prepared flowers2 then the piling them into the teapot1 the excitement of seeing the boiling water poured upon them2 the grave momentous pause while the tea was brewing2 and the hearty1 but really at last abortive1 endeavour to persuade ourselves and each other that we liked the filthy concoction1 and found it really a treat4 ,ah1 life has many a cup of cowslip tea in it2 delightful in the preparation1 exciting in the anticipation1 but most disappointing when it comes to the actual partaking6 ,we must not stop now to run down that green path into the wood--our one wood1 nor to see which shall first enter it with a bound2 we must not stop1 although we know that a little later in the year there were some rare choice treasures there4 ,a firmament of starry wood anemones2 and here and there a bent spike of wild hyacinth1 not yet ripened into its deep full blue2 and here and there a pale green orchis1 coming out of its two ribbed leaves1 valued because rarer than its purple brother1 that but rarely yet towered with its tall rich spike above the clustering milky flowers4 ,and on one bank that we knew1 just two or three roots of primroses1 the only roots that grew wild for miles about that part1 each tendering to us its crowded offering of sweet faint flowers1 and deeper yellow buds imbedded in the crisp1 crumpled leaves4 ,and then the lords and ladies3 lord1 handsomest--lady1 rarest3 ,i could pick and unroll them now4 ,they call to mind a glad1 bright little address of a child to the flowers1 with which ,i will conclude these reminiscent wanderings among the old wildflower fields of youth3-- 8,oh velvet bee1 you're a dusty fellow1 ,you've powdered your legs with gold6 ,oh brave marsh marybuds1 rich and yellow1 ,give me your money to hold6 ,oh columbine1 open your folded wrapper1 ,where two twin turtle-doves dwell6 ,oh cuckoopint1 toll me the purple clapper ,that hangs in your clear green bell60 ,why have ,i recalled these child remembrances of early ,spring days8 ,why1 but to add that those keen delights1 those exquisite1 though unintellectual and reasonless1 appreciations are gone--in this life for ever6 ,wherefore ,i say in this life1 ,i mean presently to show3 suffice it now to say that the ,summer and ,autumn of human life1 dry and dusty1 or sorrowful and decaying1 have done quite1 except for some tender sweet reminiscent hints1 with the freshness1 and the glee1 and the gladness of the old ,spring days4 8,there was a time when meadow1 grove1 and stream1 ,the earth1 and every common sight1 ,to me did seem1 ,apparelled in celestial light1 ,the glory and the freshness of a dream4 ,it is not now as it hath been of yore2-- ,turn wheresoe'er ,i may1 ,by night or day1 ,the things which ,i have seen ,i now can see no more40 ,these lines of ,wordsworth express1 very exquisitely1 the thought at which ,i have just been catching4 ,something goes1 as we grow old--a gladness1 a suddenness of appreciation of enjoyment is lost2 and the dark ,summer foliage is not the same with the fresh light green of the young ,spring leaves4 ,and when a gush of the old keen relish comes back for a moment1 there is regret as well as sweetness in the tears that suddenly dim the eyes4 ,spring days1 sweet ,spring days1 my quiet heart and rested eye tell me that there is no fear but that ,i enjoy you still6 8,for1 lo1 the winter is past1 ,the rain is over and gone2 ,the flowers appear on the earth2 ,the time of the singing of birds is come1 ,and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land40 ,this exquisite poetry has its voice of delight for me1 and as ,i shut my eyes1 it brings a change over the bare boughs and the ,winter land4 ,i dream of the chill black hedges and trees1 flushing first into redness1 and then 8a million emeralds burst from the ruby buds40 ,i dream of the birds coming back1 one after one1 until the poetry of the flowers is all set to music4 ,and ,i go out into the land to behold1 not only to dream of and image1 these things4 ,i watch for the delicious green1 tasselling the earliest larch 7there is one every year a fortnight in advance of the others7 in the clump of those trees beside the road on my way home4 ,i look1 in a warm patch that ,i know1 for the first primroses1 and when ,i find them mildly and quietly gazing up at me from the moss1 and ivy1 and broken sticks1 and dead leaves1 a surprise1 although ,i was expecting them1 and a dim reflection of that old child-joy1 bring with a rush to my heart again those 8,thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears40 ,and in the garden ,i wander through the bare shrubberies1 varied with bright green box1 and gather in my harvest there4 ,the little ,queen ,elizabeth aconites1 gold-crowned in their wide-frilled green collars2 these are no more scant1 and just breaking with bent head through cracking frosty ground4 ,they have carpeted the brown beds1 and are even waxing old and past now4 ,the snowdrops have but left a straggler here and there2 and the miniature golden volcano of the crocus has spent its columns of fire4 ,the hazels are draped with slender1 drooping catkins2 the sweetbriar is letting the soft sweet-breathed leaves here and there out of the clenched hand of the bud4 ,the cherry-tree is preparing to dress itself almost in angels' clothing1 white and glistening1 and delicious with all soft recesses of clear grey shadow1 seen against the mild blue sky4 ,the long branches of the horse-chestnut trees1 laid low upon the lawn1 are lighting up all over with the ravishing crumpled emerald that bursts like light out of the brown sticky bud---as sometimes holy heavenly thoughts may come from one whose first look we disliked2 or as ,god's dear lessons unfold out of the dark sheath of trouble4 ,the fairy almond-tree--of so tender a hue that you might fantastically imagine it a cherry-tree blushing--casts a light scarf over a dark corner of the shrubbery4 ,the laburnum is preparing for the ,summer1 and is all hung with tiny green festoons4 ,against the blue sky1 on a bare sycamore branch1 that stretches out straight from the trunk1 a glad-voiced thrush seems thanking ,god that the ,spring days are come4 ,wedged tight into three branching boughs1 near the stem of a box-tree1 ,i find a warm secure nest1 filled with five little blue-green eggs4 ,it is still a delight to me to find a nest2 a delight1 if not now a rapture1 an intoxication4 ,all these ,i see on one ,spring day or another1 as ,i walk into my garden1 or out into the changing lanes4 ,all these ,i see1 and all these ,i love4 ,but ,i see them1 and ,i love them tenderly and quietly1 not with the wonder and the glee of life's early ,spring days4 ,i am sad1 partly because ,i know that a great deal of that old wondering ecstatic thrill has gone4 8,the rainbow comes and goes1 ,and lovely is the rose1 ,the moon doth with delight ,look round her when the heavens are bare2 ,waters on a starry night ,are beautiful and fair2 ,the sunshine is a glorious birth2 ,but yet ,i know1 where'er ,i go1 ,that there hath passed away a glory from the earth40 ,it must be so1 naturally1 if only from the mere fact that things must lose their newness1 and so their wonder1 to the eye and the heart4 ,do what you will1 you must become accustomed to things4 ,and the scent of a hyacinth or of the may1 will cease when familiar to be the wonderful enchanting thing that childhood held it to be4 ,and the thirtieth time that we see1 to notice1 the first snowdrop bursting through the pale green sheath above the brown bed1 is a different thing from the third time4 ,we appreciate delights keenly when we are young1 seek the same in later years1 but never find them2 and then all our life remember the search more or less regretfully4 ,so ,wordsworth1 the old man1 addresses the cuckoo that brought back his young days and his young thoughts by its magic voice3-- 8,thou bringest unto me a tale ,of visionary hours4 8,thrice welcome1 darling of the ,spring6 ,even yet thou art to me ,no bird1 but an invisible thing1 ,a voice1 a mystery3 8,to seek thee did ,i often rove ,through woods and on the green2 ,and thou wert still a hope1 a love2 ,still longed for1 never seen4 8,and ,i can listen to thee yet2 ,can lie upon the plain ,and listen1 till ,i do beget ,that golden time again40 ,ah well1 ,i must get on to my moral4 ,i must not wail like an ,autumn wind among the young flowers1 and the bright leaves1 and the blithe songs of the sweet ,spring days1 else ,i shall lay myself open to the reproach of the poet describing one who-- 8,words of little weight let fall1 ,the fancy of the lower mind-- ,that waxing life must needs leave all ,its best behind40 ,it is not true really1 that we are leaving behind our best1 when we have passed into the ,summer1 or even into the ,autumn days4 ,but there is a degree1 a portion of truth in it4 ,there is a sense1 no doubt1 in which even the ,summer does lose a beauty which is the peculiar possession of life's ,spring days4 ,first then 7to divide sermon-wise71 what is that we lose1 when we lose ,spring days8 ,i have hinted at this loss in nearly all that has been written above4 ,we lose the gladness of inexperience1 the gladness and enjoyment that is not thoughtful1 nor such as can give a reason for itself1 but that is merely natural1 and welling up irresistibly like a spring4 ,we lose the newness of things--aye1 more1 far more than this1 we lose the newness of ourselves1 the freshness of our own heart4 ,this is 7with some in a greater1 with some in a less degree7 what we discover that we have left behind1 when we look back on life's ,spring days4 ,some of us1 with a tender half-regretful watering1 keep a hint1 a reminiscence1 of that old freshness4 ,but many heedlessly suffer the world's dust to coat it over1 and the world's drought to shrivel it up4 ,but now1 what may we have gained1 if there be something lost in our leaving ,spring days behind8 ,if we lose a little1 let us not fear but that our gain is far larger than our loss4 ,we gain gladness and we gain sadness 7,i use the word gain advisedly7--the gladness and the sadness of experience4 ,a gladness that is part of the depth of a grave river now2 profound1 if not light-hearted like the little spring4 ,a gladness that1 when it comes1 is more rational than merely animal2 that has a reason to give for itself1 and does not exist merely because it exists4 ,a joy that is far more rare1 also less ecstatic1 but that is higher and deeper1 having its birth in the intellect1 and not simply in the life of the human creature4 ,to exemplify my meaning4 ,in art1 compare the mere admiration without knowledge1 with the intelligent appreciation4 ,turned loose without knowledge into a picture-gallery1 how many things you admire1 almost everything2 and how fresh and uncritical is your admiration6 ,but gain knowledge of art1 gain experience2 and you straightway lose in quantity what you yet gain in quality4 ,you admire fewer pictures1 but your admiration of the few is a different thing from that old admiration of the many4 ,it is a higher thing1 more intelligent1 more subtle1 more refined4 ,it is an appreciation now1 not merely an ignorant admiration4 ,you are harder to please2 in one sense you have lost2 but manifestly1 on the whole you have gained4 ,and so with the gladness of manhood4 ,it is a deeper1 graver1 more fastidious1 yet a more reasonable and higher feeling than the gladness of the child4 ,the sparkle1 and bubble1 and glitter1 and singing have gone2 but in their stead is a strength1 an earnestness1 an undercurrent not easily stayed or stemmed or turned aside4 ,the gladness which is intelligent is better than the gladness which is instinctive4 ,and the sadness of experience 7for we cannot live long in this world without discovering that life is exquisitely sad7--the sadness which comes with experience--is this also a gain8 ,no doubt it is--no doubt it is4 ,a wise man once told us that sorrow is better than laughter2 that the house of mourning is better than the house of feasting4 ,and a ,greater than ,solomon endorsed with ,his lips and with ,his life the declaration1 8,blessed are they that mourn40 ,and who that regards life in its true aspect1 but must bow a grave assent to this verdict8 ,he who watches the effect on himself of ,god's teaching1 and of the lessons which ,he sets to be learnt1 will understand what the ,master means by ,his saying4 ,he who regards his own life as something more than a bee's life1 or a butterfly's life2 he who sees that the life of man has its schooling1 meant to raise it above our natural meannesses1 and petulances1 and impulses1 and weaknesses1 and selfishnesses1 and ungenerousness--into something high and noble and stedfast1 exalted1 sublime1 angelic1 godlike2 he who thus thinks of life1 and watches life with this idea ever in view1--will find it not hard in time to thank ,god for having made him sad1 even while the sadness is fresh and new and keen in his subdued and wounded heart4 ,disappointed in many things1 and with many people1 he will accept the disappointment with a quiet1 anguished1 thankful heart1 feeling that ,god1 who tore from him his prop1 is raising the trailing vine from the ground1 and instructing its tendrils to twine around ,himself1 the only support that can never fail them4 ,and this is well1 he knows1 who is a watcher of life1 and a learner of its lessons4 ,and when sadness has produced this1 its right and intended effect of sweetening1 and not souring the soul1 a fresh advantage and gain steals1 starlike1 into the darkened sky4 ,the heart that has been made lonely1 except for ,god's then most nearly felt presence1 in a sorrow1 is that which is the most braced and disentangled for the great and noble deeds of life4 ,with a sad and a disappointed1 if yet still a loving1 tender heart1 we can go out on ,god's work1 go out to face evil1 or to do good1 more easily and thoroughly oftentimes1 than when this great grave1 the world1 shows to us 8its sunny side40 ,sadness1 to him who humbly and prayerfully is seeking to learn ,god's lesson in life1 has not a weakening1 but a tonic power4 ,god1 who sends the sadness1 sends also the health and the strength2 yea1 the strength arises from the sadness4 ,something of what ,i mean is grandly expressed in the following extract3-- 8,there are moments when we seem to tread above this earth1 superior to its allurements1 able to do without its kindness1 firmly bracing ourselves to do our work as ,he did ,his4 ,those moments are not the sunshine of life4 ,they did not come when the world would have said that all around you was glad2 but it was when outward trials had shaken the soul to its very centre1 then there came from ,him 444 grace to help in time of need40 ,sadness1 then1 which braces and strengthens the character1 which raises it into something nobler than it would otherwise have been2 which sets a man free and stirs him up for great and noble acts1 for a resolute devoted doing of ,christ's work on earth--such an experience is certainly a gain2 and if this be our own1 even when the ,autumn woods are growing bare1 we are not to wish to have back the old sweet ,spring days4 ,now one more loss and gain has occurred to my mind1 contemplating those ,spring days that seem1 but are not1 so far behind me in life4 ,how often we pine after the innocence of childhood6 how the poetry of our hearts1 and of our writers1 loves mournfully to recur to this6 8,the smell of violets1 hidden in the green1 ,poured back into my empty soul and frame ,the times when ,i remember to have been ,joyful1 and free from blame40 ,but here again a little thought will show us that we need not have left our best behind1 when the ,spring days are with us no more4 ,deliberate and intelligent goodness and holiness is a better thing than mere innocence of childhood1 which1 again1 is rather the absence of something than the presence of aught4 ,there has been merely neither time nor opportunity yet for much evil doing3 there was no intelligent choice of good because of its goodness4 ,and thus1 if the man 7although he have sinned far more than the child can have done7 has yet1 at last1 and through much sharp experience1 learnt life's great lesson1 and has become 7however it be but incipiently7 holy and good1 that deliberate and positive1 though imperfect goodness1 is far better than the mere negative innocence of the child4 ,angelic innocence is1 and the innocence of ,adam would have been1 no doubt1 intelligent innocence4 ,but now that we have fallen1 that innocence 7which1 after all1 is but comparative7 of childhood is little else but the lack of time and knowledge and opportunity for sin4 ,such innocence is merely a negative thing1 while holiness is positive4 ,and he who is ripening into holiness in life's ,summer1 need not regret the mere innocence of its ,spring days4 ,in life's filled1 and alas1 blotted pages1 if1 amid many smears and stains1 the golden letters of ,,goodness at last begin to gleam forth in a clear predominance1 he who considers wisely will not regret much the newness of the book1 whose pages are only white and pure1 because scarce yet written in at all4 99 99 99 99 99 8,the world passeth away1 and the lust thereof40 ,all is evanescent1 passing away2 not only the objects that we desire1 but even our desire and appreciation of them too4 ,nor does this only apply to that which is worldly1 in an evil sense1 but to some objects sad to lose1 but which to have still1 but no longer to be able to appreciate1 is yet a sadder but an inevitable loss4 ,when we look back upon life's ,spring days1 something really sweet1 and beautiful1 and desirable1 seems left behind and gone4 ,not life's best2 not the grape1 but the bloom on it2 not the deep blue day1 but the strange glory of the morning sky4 ,something seems lost4 ,i am fond of maintaining that it will yet hereafter be found4 ,in ,heaven1 ,i think1 there will be not only beauty1 fairer than our fairest ,spring days2 but an appreciative power1 undying1 ever existing2 and hearts that shall not know what it is to be growing old4 ,this life is one1 ,i again toll1 of incessant passing away4 ,friends and joys leave us1 and even if they did not1 the power of enjoying often goes1 and hands that were once little close-locked hands1 deteriorate into flabby1 cold fishes' fins4 ,here1 you must lose1 if you would gain2 you must spend if you would buy4 ,hereafter it may be different4 ,a hint of this seems given in an old prophecy of choice things to be had without money1 and without price4 ',tis all clear profit there1 ,i conclude2 you add1 without subtracting4 ,yes1 in that ,land 7to illustrate by a fancy7 the ,winter flowers will come1 one after one1 breaking through the frost-bound beds1 and when the time comes at which we shall expect them to go1 they will surprise us by staying with us still4 ,the sweet1 faint1 mild ,spring primroses will brim the copses1 and spill over1 trickling down the banks2 the daffodils 7not ,lent-lilies there7 will dance over the meadows in a golden sheet1 and will wonder to find that they are additions1 not substitutes4 ,the trembling cowslips1 the starry anemones1 the wood-fulls of hyacinths1 the rose campions1 the purple orchis spires1 these will supplement1 not supplant1 the fair growth that used to fade at the first footfall of their advent4 ,and so the sweetbriar roses1 red and burning1 and their paler sisters with unscented leaves1 and the clematis snow1 and the honeysuckle clusters1 and the meadow-sweet2 these will come not to fill an empty cup1 but a full one1 and one that yet1 though full1 is ever capable of containing more4 ,and so snowdrops need not die for violets to come1 nor violets vanish to make room for the rose4 ,and ,autumn will not supersede ,summer1 nor come1 except to add its quota of beauty4 8,how then80 ask you1 8shall we not soon arrive at the end of the delights of the year1 and weary with their sameness80 ,no1 ,i reply1 for ,i think we shall not stop at ,summer in ,heaven1 but ever go on into new and lovelier seasons2 appreciating old pleasures with unweary hearts1 but ever adding to them new4 8,old things are passed away40 ,that is1 perhaps1 this old fading state of things1 of objects1 and capacity of enjoying them3 and our hearts that once were young1 but that still 7except for the youth and freshness that religion can preserve in them7 will be ever growing so old--so old4 8,behold ,i make all things new40 ,all things--our hearts then1 too3 they will be again fresh1 and that old forgotten or sorrowfully remembered child wonder1 and appreciation1 and love may come back2 and the 8forgets0 of our later years be called to mind again3-- 8,is it warm in that green valley1 ,vale of childhood1 where you dwell8 ,is it calm in that green valley ,round whose bournes such great hills swell8 ,are there giants in the valley1-- ,giants leaving footprints yet8 ,are there angels in the valley8 ,tell me----,i forget40 ,but nothing that is beautiful to remember will be forgotten there4 ,and the poet will no more lament a light gone out1 a glory faded2 our worn-out feelings1 and spirits1 and appreciations1 and hopes1 and beliefs1 and wonders1 and admirations1 will be restored to us new4 ,so altogether new1 so quite different in nature1 as well as in degree1 from the old1 that they will keep new1 and not fade and perish in the using4 ,that world will not pass away1 nor the enjoyment thereof4 ,for all there will be in perfect harmony with the will of ,god1 which abideth for ever4 ,everlasting ,spring days6 ,think of that6 ,i mean an everlasting ,spring season and freshness in the heart4 ,oh the sadness which is an undercurrent of all earth's poetry1 from the nightingale's1 upward1 will have left our songs then6 8,we look before and after1 ,and pine for what is not2 ,our sincerest laughter ,with some pain is fraught2 ,our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought40 ,but this will then and there be no longer the case1 for life will no longer be 8,a thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want40 ,season after season1 joy after joy1 will indeed dance into light1 but will not1 after a little brief while of enjoyment1 die into the shade4 ,heaven's everlasting flowers will not grow dry1 and dusty1 and colourless2 but for ever retain and increase the freshness1 and the abundance1 and the light1 and the exquisite glory of those unimagined ,,spring ,,days4 ,illustration ,,musings ,,in ,a ,,wood4 ,illustration ,two sweet little pictures1 entitled1 8,the ,lark10 and 8,the ,nightingale10 have greatly charmed me4 ,in one1 there was a blue-flecked sky1 a ,spring morning landscape1 and a glad-eyed girl1 with a lapful of daisies1 lying back and looking up with shaded gaze and listening eyes1 into those blue depths1 wherein 8,the lark became a sightless song40 ,in the other1 there was an evening glow3 warm1 orange-grey sky1 cooling into steel-blue2 a bower of rose-leaves2 an earnest face1 with darker hair1 and pensive brow1 flushed into warmth by the setting sun4 ,and you would know1 even had you not been told1 that the child1 old enough just to enjoy that young melancholy which is pleasant1--is listening to that 8,wild bird1 whose warble1 liquid sweet1 ,rings ,eden through the budded quicks40 ,for in neither case is the songster seen3 with true art the minstrel is left to the imagination to supply1 and this subtler artist can furnish voice1 form1 motion2 only one of which three could be given by the painter4 ,these pictures were in the ,winter ,exhibition2 hence1 no doubt1 their suggestion of the absent bird-songs was the more valued4 ,for perhaps these1 like other delights1 are the sweetest when they are not possessed1 but only remembered and longed-for4 ,that remembrance1 however1 of ,winter1 will serve1 by contrast1 to freshen our enjoyment1 as we start1 on this warm ,march day1 for ,bramley ,wood1 to descry and collect the old familiar bird-songs as they come back to us in the ,spring4 ,to collect these and the flowers1 ,i say1 in the heart's cases and herbarium1 for use when ,winter comes1 and woods are dead1 and bird-songs gone4 ,this is a better way than to crowd the staircase and hall with stuffed1 silent birds1 or to encumber your shelves with dried1 brittle1 brown specimens2 which can never suggest the fresh1 juicy1 sweet-breathed blossoms1 or the quick1 never-still1 bright-glancing inhabitants of the bushes4 ,for the heart keeps these collections all fresh and full of life1 and if a picture or a poem or a strain of music does but summon them up1 why1 there they are in a minute4 ,though they may have seemed laid by and forgotten1 yet1 at the magic call1 lo6 the heart is a lane of primroses1 or a copse of bluebells2 the lark is high in the heaven1 and the thrush answering the blackbird out of great white sheets of the may4 ,we soon settle down to the bird-songs when once they have really all come back2 and we plod on our preoccupied way1 hearing them without hearing1 unless1 indeed1 one day-note of a nightingale should electrify our heart4 ,but there is no doubt that1 at first returning1 the silver minstrelsy of the woods is welcomed by most4 ,and we never grow too old to feel a heart-kindling and a brightening of the eye1 on that mild ,november day1 when we start1 and listen1 and--yes1 it is1 the first ,thrush-song breaking the meditative misty hush of the landscape4 ,autumn is stringing the woods with tears1 and the first gripe of ,winter has ere now pinched to death the more delicate garden flowers2 but1 even before his reign has begun in earnest1 here is a voice which prophesies of his overthrow4 ,then the frosts come in defiance1 and the last leaves spin down1 and the snow-sheet falls1 and the thrush is silent as though dead1 and resistance seems overcome1 and ,winter's reign established4 ,an observant eye will1 however1 still detect a speckled clean breast1 flitting into alternate concealment and sight behind the bushes in the shrubbery1 and rustling the counterpane of dry leaves1 under which those many little dull-green points are crowding out of the frost-held ground4 ,but his song is kept in reserve for a time4 ,and it seems that ,spring is close at hand1 and that the year is indeed turned1 when next you hear him1 high on the boughs of that tulip tree1 large against the pale blue sky1 singing out loud and clear from early morning to dusk of a bright ,february day4 ,and the dry leaves have huddled away from the searching wind1 and left the brown moist beds1 over which trembles a surprise of delicate white cups1 where the blunt dull-green points had been4 ,but ,i mean now to muse in a fanciful way about the characteristics of these returning songs1 and the teaching that may be gathered from them4 ,canon ,evans' little book1 8,the ,songs of the ,birds10 might seem to have preoccupied this ground1 but the treatment will differ1 if the idea be the same4 ,to what1 then1 shall we liken the song of the ,thrush8 ,different temperaments of men and women may well be illustrated by the variety in the character of the bird-songs4 ,in the thrush's song1 then1 ,i seem to hear the utterance of the strong and happy ,christian4 ,he has never been troubled with any doubts2 the dark dismays and hidden misgivings of other minds are without meaning to him4 ,clear and glad1 and untroubled1 and strong in faith1 the soul of this man sits upon wintry trees1 above few trembling flowers1 under a pale still sky1 and sings from the early morning to the dusking eve an unwavering1 undoubting1 happy song4 ,a song in which there are not weird mysterious depths of feeling1 nor ecstatic1 incomprehensible heights1 but in which there is ever an even tenor1 a stedfast sustained gladness1 an unchecked unvarying trust4 ,a song1 perhaps1 not of the highest intellect1 but of the firmest faith4 ,here are no dark questionings1 that must be content to pause for an answer hereafter2 no evil suggestions1 fiery darts which the shield of faith must ever be upheld to quench4 ,there is almost a hard ignoring and turning away from minds otherwise fashioned2 minds full of anxieties and searchings1 that are troubles indeed1 but not doubts2 struggles1 but not defeats1 because faith upholds where sight fails4 ,these sing more broken snatches of more passionate music1 amid thicker branches1 and in the dusk2 while the thrush-spirit1 unknowing of these fierce alternations1 sings out1 up there upon the naked bough1 clear and distinct against the blue soft sky4 ,there is a wild stormy note which must detain us awhile from our ,march wood4 ,it comes early in ,january1 and on stormy days1 under thin driving clouds1 you may hear short bursts1 as though the broken song of a husky blackbird1 flung from the ivy-clad top of some tall1 ancient spruce-fir4 ,this is the note of the ,missel-thrush1 or ,storm-cock4 ,he seems rather to exult in the disturbed sky1 and swaying boughs1 and passing gleams and showers4 ,there is a wild beauty1 tempered with a little harshness1 in the short sharp snatches of defiant and militant song4 ,in him ,i find a type of the religious controversialist and disputant2 the watchman set on his tower amid storms and lowering days4 ,such watchers there are1 and they are useful to detect and descry the insidious approach of error4 ,controversialists-born1 as it were1 you shall ever hear their sharp short utterances under a stormy sky2 and while you value the note1 you will often detect and deplore some touch of harshness that grates upon the heart1 some falling short of the mellow flute-like tones of ,love4 ,but on our way to the wood1 and as we pass through this meadow1 a ,skylark springs up1 and flutters higher and higher2 fountain-like1 as it rises1 scattering about its silver spray of song4 ,very soon the eye wanders about1 searching after it for some time in vain1 pleased at last to recover the dim black speck in the grey sky4 ,i suppose that the picture of which ,i spoke above gives the natural embodiment of the song of the lark4 8,heigh ho6 daisies and buttercups1 ,fair yellow daffodils1 stately and tall2 ,a sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure1 ,and fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall40 ,up into the sky1 bright thoughts and dreams1 quivering wings1 swelling throat1 hurrying ecstasies and crowding notes of joy1 impatient1 yet impossible to be uttered4 ,careless flowers upon the lap1--withering1 are they8 ,but there is a worldful more to be had for the gathering4 ,oh yes1 the lark's song is that of the young heart--young enough to stop short at the attainment of simple gladness4 ,there is not yet upon it the sweet hush even of love and sentiment1 the upward soaring has no alternate dip and rise2 the quick beat of the wings no pause2 the bright flash of song no dyings-down into shade4 ,wonder at life goes hand in hand with joy in it2 all is new and all is delicious2 all is hope1 and nothing is disappointing2 the whole widening prospect is one of beauty and glad surprise4 ,the year is in its early ,spring1 and has never so much as heard of ,autumn yet2 nor can guess1 nor cares to try to divine1 what those old brown leaves can mean1 out of which huddle the thick primrose clumps4 ,higher and higher1 and brighter and brighter1 and gladder and gladder1 and more and more impetuous the thronging notes1 and more and more untiring the ecstatic wing4 ,and ,god loves to see this1 for ,he gave the feeling2 and we may perceive that ,he has allotted to most things a young life of fresh colour and unmixed joyfulness4 ,kittens and lambs1 and ,spring leaves1 and young children--they all sober down soon enough--and well they should4 ,but let us not grudge the short hour of pure lightness of heart1 that was ,god's gift2 nor hunt for ripe fruit among the sheets of blossom2 nor dull with our heart's twilight the first flush of the morning2 nor desire1 in the song of the lark1 the thoughtfulness of the blackbird--far less the moan of the dove4 ,let not our work ever be to check1 only to guide1 and to tend1 and to develop1 the heart's songful gladness1 pointing it1 indeed1 heavenward2 or1 again1 ready to tend the germ which some gust has stolen from its white petal-wings4 ,i spoke of the ,blackbird4 ,and here1 as we near the wood1 towards which for some long time we have been walking1 we catch the smooth1 rich1 lyric fragments of this deep-hearted poet4 ,less openly1 freely1 fearlessly confident and exulting in an unclouded soul1 than the thrush1--there is something exceedingly fascinating in the intermitted1 but not broken song of the blackbird4 ,the pauses which sever the stanzas of his song1 seem well suited to its lyric character4 ,there are in these separate and finished verses the polish and completeness1 also the richness and liquid flow1 of a set of stanzas of 8,in ,memoriam10 and1 moreover1 something of their wild mournfulness and tender1 deep1 questioning thought4 ,the blackbird's song is that of the grave1 mature mind1 highly intellectual1 somewhat touched with sadness1 but more with love1 and that has had to battle hard through life to keep both faith and love unimpaired4 8,the blackbird's song at eventide03 thus it is described1 and1 in truth1 it seems the passionate earnest utterance of one who can understand the difficulties which have blown down unrooted trees1 and yet has itself possession of that faith which can control into music notes that make a jarring in undisciplined minds4 ,the riddle of this painful earth has often wrung the heart of this man1 but his sorrowful thoughts concerning it have shaped themselves into these rich utterances of yearning love4 ,this trumpet gives no uncertain sound2 the speaking is clear1 and distinct1 and unfaltering4 ,you are1 as ,i said1 reminded of the controversial storm-bird by its tones1 but all that would have been harsh in its outspoken truthfulness1 is mellowed and softened by an exquisite overmastering charm of tender and patient love4 ,so that the blackbird's song is that of mature faith1 which has met and vanquished anxious questionings1 and which1 if that of a controversialist at all1 is only that of one on whom old age is stealing1 and whom experience has made gentle and patient2 and yearning for souls has made passionate2 and love of ,christ has made tenderly and invincibly loving4 ,and so when it thrills out clear and full from his hidden quiet retreat in the evening time1 even those that think that there is cause for old grudges against the minstrel are arrested reverently to listen to his deep1 thoughtful1 loving song4 ,we are at the wood now1 at last4 ,we have followed a pleasant stream that played hide-and-seek among its willows1 and1 while we talked and listened1 we have gathered in gleanings of its beauty4 ,and now we cross the narrow plank--parting the branches that half conceal it--and enter the wood4 ,there are tiny pink balls ready to burst into vivid buds1 gemming the hawthorn bushes2 but the trees and underwood are bare1 except for the willow catkins and the hazel tassels1 or perhaps the dull green of the elder in a tuft here and there1 or the early leaf-bud of a twining honeysuckle4 ,but the pale smooth ash saplings1 tall and slim1 and silver-grey in the sun1 with a narrow shadow edge1 the branches studded with black buds2 and the golden twigs of the white-stemmed birch2 and the warm light brown of the hazel boughs2 and the red of the cherry1--these make the wood1 though bare1 yet neither dull nor colourless4 ,and here1 farther in1 the many stems are fringed and bearded with the hoary and abundant growth of lichen1 cool as the bloom on a greengage1 against the pale orange which still lingers in ragged patches upon the six-feet stalks of last year's bracken4 ,illustration ,certainly there is1 all around us in the wood1 much material for musing4 ,but we have come hither for a special end4 ,for it is the thirteenth of ,march1 and by this time the first of the train of those songsters1 that fly to warmer shores to escape our ,winter1 ought to have returned4 ,so1 all ears1 we proceed over the crisp leaves1 disturbing the bobbing rabbits4 ,and there6 ,i heard the note--simple enough1 yet pleasing even in itself1 and sweet as being the forerunner of songs more rich4 ,chiff-chaff1--this dissyllable gives this ,willow-wren's note and name4 ,there is not much in it1 may be1 still it is the little tuning-fork of the coming concert4 ,and we are reminded by it of some gentle spirit which longs and tries to say a cheery and hopeful word to a heart which has been under wintry skies2 that which it repeats may not indeed be very new1 very powerful1 or very varied2 still1 it is accepted and loved for the sake of its truth and affection4 ,this bird has a relation1 due some few days later1 whose song1 though but little more pretentious1 is yet a great favourite with me4 ,i call it the laughing ,willow-wren2 and indeed its note does at once suggest a small silvery peal of merry light-hearted glee4 ,again and again1 peal after peal2 flitting through the boughs1 almost the tiniest of slim birdlings4 8,gaiety without eclipse10 it certainly is1 and yet it does not weary us1 this ceaseless 8silver-treble laughter40 ,this song has its parallel in some life1 gay and blight and glad from first to last2 hiding for a sobered moment from a shower or a storm1 but anon and on a sudden recovering its innocent glee again4 ,delicate and slim1 and easily frightened1 but never long troubled2 very winning and loveable2 too tender and pretty for the hardest hand to crush2 never doing huge deeds in the world1 but of the same value that a fugitive sunbeam would be in a heavy and gloomy wood1 or a daisy in a desert4 ,keeping the ,child's heart through the ,woman's life2 feeling sorrow lightly1 and with an ,april heart2 disarming anger or harshness by its simple gleeful innocence2 frail yet safe as a feather upon the whirls and eddies of life4 ,laugh on1 light and cheery heart1 amid the jay's harsh dissonance1 and the blackbird's thought1 and the thrush's strength1 and the dove's sadness6 ,amid ,life's gravities and stern realities there is a grateful place for the gleams of a glad-hearted song like thine6 ,illustration ,what variety in the character of the bird-music6 ,hark1 for a moment1 at those wise1 solemn caws1 and watch those sedate1 respectable1 gravely-clad ,rooks sailing across this opening above us2 so black and cleanly painted against the filmy blue4 ,caw6 ,this is the voice of a steady1 respectable mediocrity1 that by reason of its deep1 portentous gravity1 and weighty utterance1 and staid appearance1 might be almost mistaken for philosophy4 ,true1 the utterance1 if profound1 is not remarkable for variety2 but then the manner will often make up for lack of matter4 ,and it is something to have one maxim or apophthegm which may be fitted to every case4 ,to all the world's customs and businesses1 its problems and aspirings1 its cries and laughter1 he gravely and meditatively listens4 ,and when you eagerly await his verdict1 he puts his sapient head on one side1 looks at you out of one eye1 8,and says1--what says he8 ,,caw60 ,the young impatient askers1 the subtle and patient tracers of truth's hidden vein1 will chafe at his sedate utterances1 and in time take their confidences elsewhere4 ,but he can get on without them1 and will never want for company of his kind4 ,raised above all intellectual excitements1 and never in a hurry1 the rooks step side by side with stately dignity over the scarred earth2 or wing a heavy and cautious flight towards the trees2 or sail serene in the still sky4 ,for though there may be times when 8,the rooks are blown about the skies10 this haste is involuntary1 and must no doubt for the time much discomfort the methodical and stately traveller4 ,and no doubt such characters are as useful ballast in the world1 and well counterbalance the full excited sails1 and the mad fluttering pennons above them4 ,commonplace1 unruffled1 happy ,christians are these2 with some they gain reputation for wisdom1 with some for folly2 but they go evenly on2 not much troubled by sunshine or storm2 not caring to enter into the dusks and gleams of the more passionate songsters and thinkers2 ever with one quiet and not unmelodious answer3 a life rather of deeds than of words4 ,caw1 to all your spasms and heart-searchings1--and then ,i must just away to my work4 ,up in the tall trees1 bending and swaying to break off the twigs for the nest2 practical1 if not colloquial2 early at work in the morning1 and at home in good time in the evening2 a life not excited nor greatly eventful1 but that has its own quiet1 serene lesson4 ,a day or two hence we might hear a notable and distinguished visitor to the woods and shrubberies4 ,even now1 ,i have once or twice paused1 half-fancying that ,i heard his voice1 and ready to do honour to such a guest4 ,for1 while you are momently expecting to hear the ,blackcap1 the warbling of the meditative ,robin has1 here and there1 a note which puzzles you4 ,you follow out the voice1 and there1 on an elm branch1 is the dark eye1 and the warm breast1 and the comfortable shape2 and you feel half ashamed to have mistaken such a familiar friend for a stranger4 ,the ,blackcap is indeed a wonderful little warbler4 ,so small and so energetic1 thrilling song and swelling throat2 brown body and whitish chest and jetty head4 ,there are those who trace a resemblance to the nightingale's song in its quick joyous utterances4 ,if so1 certainly the melody is but a suggestion here and there1 and not a sustained and continuous resemblance4 ,shall ,i be unkind to the sweet little songster1 if here ,i write that its song has its counterpart in the life of unequal ,christians8 ,many there are who1 now and then1 in thought1 word1 or deed1 seem to touch some perfect chord1 and then disappoint the intent listener by sinking down to the more commonplace again4 ,a moment1 and there seemed a strain of angelic utterance1 but it was not sustained1 and you turn away disappointed at a more homely song which would otherwise have pleased you well4 ,you do not look for ,seraph notes in the hedge-sparrow's song1 or the wren's chatting1 and so you are well content with these4 ,but high hopes unfulfilled become disappointment1 and you feel an injury in having to resign the exalted idea which you had taken up2 until1 at last you see yourself in the sweet1 but unequal and inadequate song2 and learn to reverence and to love the ever-failing and unsustained effort after higher things4 ,thus1 ay thus1 do you aim high1 and ever fall below your aim2 there is one touch of heaven1 and a hundred of earth1 in the broken and unsustained song of your life2 and yet you would rather strive with hopeless yearning after the nightingale's music1 than acquiesce content with the lesser warblings1 which accomplish the less that they attempted4 ,sing on1 then1 little bird1 to an answering heart6 ,in your song ,i read the rises and falls1 the endeavours and failings1 the aspirings and rare glimpses of attainment1 which are the sweet exceptions1 and the commonplace and every-day ,christianity1 which is the rule1 of a life that would fain become the song of an ,angel1 but that scarce reaches the homeliest warble of the simplest wayside bird4 ,let us aim high1 if we still fall below our passionate striving2 let us never acquiesce quietly in less than ,perfection2 hereafter--who knows8 who knows8 ,illustration ,it is evening now1 as we wend our way home4 ,a thin sickle of light is barred by the slender topmost ash twigs1 and the sky is deepening to that cold1 clear dusk1 that foreruns twilight4 ,we hear a quiet song1 far away--the ,woodlark's note always seems far away--you would have asked me the name of the not-generally-familiar songster1 but ,i have just given it4 8,that1 the woodlark8 ,well1 ,i never heard1 or never noticed it before0 ,i dare say4 ,but if is a quiet1 saintly song2 a heavenly voice1 serene and clear1 never passionate3 a twilight1 still1 calm song1 removed far away from the world's bustle1 and deeply imbued with wisdom and melody from a ,land far beyond this eager fevered strife4 ,it is not glad1 nor sorrowful2 nor so much thoughtful as spiritual4 ,it images to us that life which1 separated from the world1 is yet not ascetic2 unobtrusive1 yet fascinating when once perceived and heeded2 simple1 somewhat as is the language of ,st4 ,john1 but with unfathomable suggestions and revelations when you come to study and learn it4 ,quite away from controversy and strife1 there is in it a divine peace1 an entranced contemplation1 a serene and peaceful uplifting of the soul4 ,perhaps the writings of ,archbishop ,leighton best give words to my ideal of the woodlark's song4 ,but those throbbing coos must stay our foot ere we quite leave the wood4 ,the ,dove--its voice is1 of course1 the embodiment of love2 troubled1 but not passionate2 earnest1 but not of earth merely4 ,it has a melancholy vehemence1 a sobbing urging of its cause1 that is rather the voice of one seeking the good of another than its own delight4 ,there is a tremulousness1 a trembling fulness that might be that of one bidding farewell in death to some very dear friend whom he fain would win to the right and happy path1 but for whom he sadly stands in doubt4 ,there is such abundance from which to speak1 such love and such mournfulness in saying it1 that you smile with the tears near your eyes1 on suddenly recollecting whither fancy was leading you1 and that it is1 after all1 but the old old story being beautifully and melodiously told4 ,for you caught a sight of the ash-blue wing1 the mild eye1 and swelling crop1 and of the mate on a branch close by2 and so your fancy was overturned4 ,but there is one song which we shall not hear yet1 as we return home from the wood2 of which1 nevertheless1 some words must be said4 ,yet what words have even the greatest word-masters yet found for the ,,nightingale',s unearthly melody6 ,what other song has even a likeness of the instantaneous and riveting fascination that is produced by one note of this8 ,it is music which speaks1 not to what we call the heart1 merely1 or the intellect1 merely1 but straight at once to that mysterious divine thing within us1 which we call the spirit4 ,and so it represents that recognition of1 and yearning for1 an ideal perfection and beauty1 which many own1 but few can express4 ,and thus we start to hear it represented and embodied in sound without language1 and1 without knowing how1 acknowledge a dumb music in ourselves which is closely akin to this superhuman and unearthly song4 ,and we cannot1 if we try1 exactly define its character2 some call it joyous2 more sorrowful4 ,but perhaps there is a hint in it of something within us higher and deeper than either of these2 else how can it thus startle and electrify our being8 ,at least it tells us of melody that we cannot yet grasp or fully understand1 of beauty and harmony and perfection that is not yet our own4 ,and ,i liken it to the raptured speakings of the prophet1 or to an echo of the angelic messages seldom brought to earth4 ,well1 'tis difficult1 and perhaps hopeless1 to strive to interpret the songs of these little minstrels of ,god4 ,after all1 each heart will set them to words of its own4 ,and1 by leading others to do so1 perhaps my musings may best fulfil their end4 ,many a one who would have appreciated them1 misses the pictures in earth's great gallery1 and the music of earth's great concert1 for want of a finger to point him once to the one1 and a hand on his shoulder to arrest his attention for the other4 ,and it is worth regarding pictures at which ,god is working1 and to listen to songs which yet remain in a saddened world1 exactly as ,he first taught them4 ,illustration ,,the ,,may-,,days ,,of ,,the ,,soul4 ,illustration 8,all things are new3 the buds1 the leaves1 ,that gild the elm-tree's nodding crest2 ,and e'en the nest beneath the eaves3 ,there are no birds in last year's nest60 ,may has come2 that time of year has passed the sweet ,april time1 8,when all the wood stands in a mist of green1 ,and nothing perfect40 ,the sparsely-gemmed hedges have thickened now1 so that you cannot see the gardens through their bare ribs2 and little bunches of tight-clenched buds give abundant promise of the sweet-breathed1 shell-petaled hawthorn flowers4 ,the coy ash-trees have begun to fringe over with their feather foliage2 the ruddy bushy growth that seemed comically like whiskers1 at the base of the elms and the lindens1 has changed into a surprise of glorified green2 the low shoots from the stump of the old oak-tree in the hedge bring out their wealth of soft1 crumpled1 young red leaves2 the elders on the banks have gotten a deep1 full garment of green upon them now2 above the ash-hued stem of the maples there is a numberless array of small maroon-tinged fists2 the tender beech-leaves edge the low boughs that are spread out just above the grass4 ,illustration ,the birds are full of importance1 and excitement1 and enjoyment4 ,the robin has his 8fuller crimson02 the 8livelier iris shines upon the burnished dove10 ,the black rook sails lazily with broad wing up in the blue sky3 he1 too1 has his high nest to attend to2 but life1 on such a day as this1 imperatively demands to be enjoyed4 ,the copse rings with the laugh of the little willow-wren2 the chiff-chaff ceaselessly announces his presence2 the woodpecker cries as he leaves tree for tree2 the blackcap1 not singing just now1 makes that 8check1 check10 like the striking of two marbles together2 the cuckoo1 besides telling his name to all the hills1 has also a low1 cooing1 wooing voice for his mate2 also another cry1 as of a startled blackbird1 but flute-like and liquid4 8,flattered with promise of escape ,from every hurtful blast1 ,spring takes1 ,o sprightly ,may1 thy shape1 ,her loveliest and her last40 ,illustration ,a sweet grey tint1 that had begun to overspread the bare parts of the copse1 is deepening into such a sapphire sheet1 that our ungrateful hearts half forget or retract the regret they felt1 when the fair young hazels and the tall thin ash-wands bowed in the ,winter before the cruel bill4 ,only lately1 it seems1 on the way across the fields to the station1 a delicate fairy mass1 the light lilac of the 8faint sweet cuckoo-flower10 had spread its kindly screen over the hacked and maimed stumps of the fallen wood4 ,but the hyacinths take their place now2 and1 after these1 we expect the bright rose of the ragged-robin2 and1 after these1 quite a garden of tall spires of the foxglove1 alternating from pale to darker red1 with1 rarely and preciously1 a clustered sceptre of milky white4 ,but why go on to the ragged-robin and the foxglove1 later flowers of the year8 ,truly1 there are flowers enough at this season to satisfy the most avaricious4 ,look but at the yellow meadows of the daffodils4 8,i wandered lonely as a cloud ,that floats on high o'er dales and hills1 ,when all at once ,i saw a crowd1 ,a host of golden daffodils1 ,beside the lake1 beneath the trees1 ,fluttering and dancing in the breeze4 8,continuous as the stars that shine ,and twinkle on the milky way1 ,they stretched in never-ending line ,along the margin of a bay3 ,ten thousand saw ,i at a glance1 ,tossing their heads in sprightly dance40 ,so the poet2 and how could he but be of a ,may-day heart1 amid such a ,may wealth of flowers8 ,it was a light1 a gleam1 a possession that he thenceforth held2 a sweet1 living landscape of the heart1 a landscape alive1 indeed1 not only with colour and light and shade1 but with ceaseless gleeful motion4 8,i gazed1 and gazed1 but little thought ,what wealth the show to me had brought40 ,no2 for often1 when ,may-days were far away1 and perhaps shallow snow1 streaked with patches of brown land1 slanted away under a pale grey sky1 even at such times that wealth and glory1 and abundance of the flowers1 suddenly would 8,flash upon that inward eye1 ,which is the bliss of solitude40 ,and then1 even in a lonely hour1 a time of dulness and depression1 a time when this sad life seemed saddest2 in such a time even1 that glad gleeful yellow landscape would come back1 with something of the light and joy of a kind deed done1 or a strong word said2 and1 amid the pale snow1 and the ever-increasing depression1 well can the possessor say that--then1 8,then my heart with pleasure fills1 ,and dances with the daffodils40 ,life has its ,may-days1 as well as the year4 ,they come1 sometimes2 rarely to some1 but exquisitely beautiful when ,god sends them--the ,may-days of the soul4 ,the times when the ,winter fogs have passed away1 and the clear sun shines down in its glory on the land2 the times when the bare brown trees have become ruddy1 and have then flushed into crowded variety of leaf2 the times when the flowers1 that had been thought to be buried for ever1 dawn like a smile upon earth's pale and furrowed face2 the times when youth's forgotten glow comes back1 and a hint of the vigour to which dreams seemed realities1 and impossibilities possible1 stirs the sluggish sap of the soul4 ,such times there are1 when the mists of ,november have departed1 and the frosts of the succeeding months1 and the bitter winds of ,march1 and the flooding tears of ,april2 it is the ,may1 with its lavish promise and exuberant life1 and ecstatic beauty6 ,times when illness or earth or laziness or lack of power no longer chill the soul that is indeed eager to burst into leaf2 times when we are winged1 when the hardest toils are easy to us1 the heaviest stone rolled away2 times when soul and body seem in perfect accord1 and tongue and limb and eye instantly execute the least mandate of the ruler within2 times when the ship obeys the lightest touch of the man at the helm2 times that come like holidays scattered through the dull half-year of school-days2 times of exuberant life and spirits and powers that visit us rarely1 sweetly1 now and then1 as ,may-day comes in the year4 ,i often think how little we use life thoroughly2 how little we really live our life2 how seldom we are in the humour to carry out its great and solemn purposes3 how we let its opportunities fly by us1 like thistledown on the wind4 ,why are we not always denying ourselves1 taking up the cross1 and following our ,master8 ,why are we not always on the watch for every occasion in which a word may be said1 or a deed done1 or a thought thought1 that shall be a protest for ,christ1 in this vain and sinful world8 ,why is ,god's love but a rare ,wintry gleam1 and never a steady ,summer in our soul8 ,think1 for instance1 of such a thing as ,prayer2 what a wonderful and beautiful thing it is6 ,to kneel1 an atom in creation1 at the ,throne of the ,almighty6 ,to be able to bare our hearts to ,him1 and to feel sure that the least throbs1 as well as the great spasms1 are perfectly appreciated1 felt1 understood1 sympathised with1 by that awful1 loving ,mind6 ,and yet1 how ,wintry our hearts are in our prayers6 how seldom they burst into exuberant flower6 how constantly the sky above us seems pale and heavy1 and dull and impenetrable1 and our hearts beneath abiding in their ,wintry sleep6 ,or a snowdrop here and there wanders out1 and now and then a pinched primrose--not enough for even the poorest garland4 ,but that is not all2 not only in religion is it that we are more often ,wintry-hearted than ,may-hearted4 ,i have heard of an artist who used sometimes to keep his sitter waiting a whole morning1 and at last send him away1 unable to win the right humour to his heart1 and feeling that his work would not be well done if he forced it4 ,and in reading ,haydon's life you may often find traces of how difficult is this mood to attract1 when it has not a mind to come4 ,so1 too1 in composition1 whether grave or light1 how different a thing it is1 according to our mood6 ,how delicious a thing is it when the soul has a ,may-day1 and when the pen cannot overtake the mind6 when 8,thought leaps out to wed with thought1 ,ere thought can wed itself with speech60 when ideas throng 8,glad and thick1 ,as leaves upon a tree in primrose time60 when we seem to see1 8,smiling upward from the page1 ,the image of the thought within the soul60 ,but these times1 at least after one has written a good deal1 are comparatively rare times1 and it is more often ,february than ,may within us4 ,a subject that seemed full of leaf when it occurred to the mind some weeks ago1 in a ,may-day mood1 stands often a stripped bare ,winter tree when we sit down to work it out4 ,yes1 in most of the business of life that is not mere routine and machine-work1 no doubt the soul has its ,may-days--its times of being in the humour for its work1 and of doing that work easily and glibly4 ,how many a ,clergyman would endorse this1 merely in the every-day case of taking a class in his school6 ,words1 earnest and abundant and interesting1 throng forth at one time2 at another1 how bare the mind1 and how unready the tongue6 ,and now1 to what do these thoughts lead us8 ,i think to two considerations--one of warning1 one of encouragement4 ,the warning is an obvious one1 and yet one much and often neglected4 ,let such times of warmth and light and glow and possession of blossom be not only enjoyed but employed4 ,the soul's ,flower-time should never be allowed to pass away without having left some noble fruit set4 ,it is common-place to repeat that the ,may-days of the soul are most abundant and most glowing in youth1 the ,may-time of life4 ,and1 in connection with this whole subject1 ,i quote1 with an addition1 ,longfellow's verse3-- 8,maiden1 that read'st this simple rhyme1 ,enjoy thy youth3 it will not stay2 ,enjoy the fragrance of thy prime1 ,for oh6 it is not always ,may40 ,this is gentle and tender advice2 and far am ,i from wishing to correct it1 or to do otherwise than allow it1 in its degree4 ,only there is deeper and more grave advice to be given with it1 not instead of it4 ,it is well to enjoy the soul's ,may-time1 but only well if it be employed as well as enjoyed2 otherwise it will pass1 and no trace be left4 ,we may make a great ,may-day show by merely gathering our flowers and weaving them into garlands2 and there may be much dancing and excitement and glee4 ,but then1 it seems purely and simply sad to see them next day lying neglected1 limp1 and withering1 in patches and dribblets1 on the ground2 whereas1 although the apple-tree and the primrose bank may look sobered and saddened when their blossom-time is past1 you yet know that all trace of that sweet adornment is not lost2 they are busy henceforth1 maturing fruit and seed from the germs that the bloom has left4 ,therefore1 to return to the principal thing1 namely1 ,religion3 remember1 when the blossom-time comes1 or returns1 that its fairy brightness is evanescent4 ,it must pass1 therefore use it2 enjoy it1 but put it out to usury2 let it not fade and fall without having left a germ of noble fruit behind4 ,when the heaven seems open to prayer1 when the dull sky has cleared1 and1 thick and sweet as ,may-flowers1 the earnest longings and ready words burst from your bare heart1 seize the auspicious hour2 let it not pass unemployed4 ,do not merely taste1 but exhaust its sweetness4 ,when ,god seems to make ,his listening apparent1 refrain not2 besiege ,his throne with prayers1 supplications1 praises4 ,and again1 when the heart has thawed from its deadness and indifference1 and a very ,may-gathering of zeal for ,god1 of love for ,god and man1 of high and holy yearnings and longings and resolves and purposes1 crowd upon the ,winter sleep of the soul2 oh1 then1 indulge not in a mere sensuality of spiritual enjoyment2 stay not at mere revelling in the warm sky and profuse up-springing of flowers2 set to work to form1 in that propitious hour1 some germs of fruit1 some careful reforms1 some holy resolves1 some earnest and lofty purposes1 some self-denials1 some pressing towards the mark4 ,prayerfully and painfully set to work1 so that1 by ,god's grace1 when the beauty has gone1 the use may remain1 and the boughs bend with fruit that were once winged with bloom4 ,oh1 we all know1 ,i say1 these ,may-days of the soul3 times when the love of ,god seems natural to us1 and our hearts overflow into a spontaneous love of man2 times when hard things are easy1 and ,apollyon in the way1 or ,giant ,maul coming out of his cave1 rather stir the soul to exultation than daunt it with dismay2 times when ,god seems to us not an abstraction1 but a reality2 when we can fancy the ,saviour beside us1 as in old days ,he stood beside ,peter or ,john2 times when it seems a light thing to spend and to be spent for ,christ's sake and the brethren2 times when the ,world has no allurements and the ,flesh no power1 and ,satan seems already beat down under our feet2 times when we go out to face the hardest duties with no secret desire that the call on us may not be made1 but rather with grave steady resolution and with face set like a flint4 ,there are times1 ,i say1 when ,god's image seems to shine out for a while1 clearly and brightly1 from the rust and mildew of marring sin and sloth2 times when1 ,samson-like1 we rise from sleep1 and the fetters that have hitherto tied us down from life's great deeds become upon our shoulders like as tow when it hath seen the fire4 ,yes1 ,may seasons there are for the soul1 in which there is a press and hurry of blossom1 that is well and fair if it be secured for ,god4 ,for1 note this--it is not always ,may4 ,the glow will pass1 the sunlight die1 the flowers will fade1 the bird-songs sink into silence4 ,and1 if you have not profited by that gleam of heaven which opened upon your soul1 you are certain to have lost by it1 especially when such a warmth1 such a light1 broke1 by ,god's grace1 through the dull sky of a cold and worldly life4 ,if any message from ,god have warmed your bare heart into leaf and bloom1 beware how you let the golden opportunity remain unemployed4 ,beware lest the east winds return1 and nip and scatter the frail petals ere the germ of some good fruit be formed4 ,life is ever offering to us ,sybilline books1 and very often we have at last to give as much effort in old age1 for the attaining of a poor service to ,god1 as we should have given1 long ago1 for a full1 rich1 hearty1 life-long serving ,him4 ,late or early1 however1 employ the excitements1 the ,may-warmths of the soul4 8,excitement has its uses2 impression has its value4 ,ye that have been impressed1 beware how you let those impressions die away4 ,die they must3 we cannot live in excitement for ever2 but beware of their leaving behind them nothing except a languid1 jaded heart4 ,if ,god gives you the excitements of religion1 breaking in upon your monotony1 take care4 ,there is no restoring of elasticity to the spring that has been over-bent4 ,let impression pass on at once to action40 ,the warning was obvious2 somewhat less so1 perhaps1 the encouragement4 ,still1 this violet is to be found if we part the brambles1 and seek it among its leaves4 ,the ,may feeling is delicious--is1 indeed1 a foretaste of heaven1 when hard things seem easy to us1 and the face of duty is scarce distinguishable from that of pleasure4 ,prayer is sweet1 sweet indeed1 when it is easy to pray2 praise is delicious when it seems almost the spontaneous growth of the heart4 ,it is pleasanter to speak a painful word1 to perform a painful duty1 in those moods when the uplifted heart almost exults at having it to do4 ,it is nothing to deny ourselves when some gleam of heaven has so exalted us that the world and the flesh and the devil have nothing to offer which can turn us from the ecstatic contemplation of ,christ1 and the ,home whither ,he has gone to prepare4 ,but is prayer more acceptable1 is praise more beautiful in ,god's sight when the heart is all in flower1 or when it is ,winterly indeed1 but exceeding sorrowful at this1 and sadly trying to gather for ,god a snowdrop out of its ,wintry beds8 ,is it more acceptable in ,god's sight to speak a true word when the heart is braced and strong1 and the effort small1 or still to speak it when the heart is shrinking and weak1 and the effort great8 ,is the deed of love or of justice or of self-denial noblest when most easy or when most difficult to be done8 ,ah1 well1 ,god knows2 and ,he sends the ,may-days1 and ,he permits the dull days and the bitter winds4 ,let us serve ,him through both1 and then all will be well4 ,no doubt we ought always to have a ,may-day in our heart for this service4 ,and yet1 perhaps1 indeed almost surely1 ,he does not mean this to be so in this life of discipline4 ,here it must not be always easy and delicious to serve ,him4 ,here we must serve ,him through cold and warm weather1 through calm and storm1 up the hill ,difficulty1 as well as in the quiet valley4 ,religious feelings are very variable2 but rarely1 comparatively1 a ,may-day comes3 the flowers are few1 and the sky closed1 almost generally4 ,let us1 then1 use diligently the warm blossom-time1 when it is with us1 but let us not be dismayed when it passes from the soul4 ,perhaps the best words we say are those that seemed to us the worst1 and the teaching that sank most into the heart was that which we thought weakest and most inadequate2 thus may ,god be pleased1 while ,he deigns to use us and to accept our work1 yet to keep us humble4 ,perhaps the service that was so hard to render1 and in which we had so to fight against listlessness and wandering thoughts1 may1 if still earnest1 prevail or please more--who knows8--than that which seemed to fly up at once full-fledged to heaven's gates4 ,if1 though limping1 we still hobble on with all our might1 we may be really making as much progress as when we seemed to be skimming the ground2 for ,god gives both the wings and the crutches4 ,of course ,i am not supposing that the hindrances to love and service arise from want of watchfulness1 that let the world creep in1 or want of prayer for the ,help which alone is sufficient for us4 ,but1 generally1 we must make up our mind to have more days of weary toiling through the desert sands than of refreshments at 8,elim1 with its palms and wells02 only1 when the rare refreshment comes1 it should have braced us for the toilsome march1 when we must leave the pleasant spot behind1 and labour toilsomely on again4 ,and1 if ,may-days of the soul come but seldom now1 and it is oftener difficult than easy to serve ,god now1 fear not1 fail not1 my ,brother or ,sister4 ,rejoice that ,god gives thee something not easy to do for ,him1 and think of a time1 beyond this brief life1 when it will be ever natural and instinctive to love and serve ,god1 when it will be 8always ,may40 ,illustration ,,summer ,,days4 ,illustration 8,consider the work of ,god40 ,we have passed1 from late ,spring into ,summer4 ,let us go out into the balmy air and mark what changes have passed over the land since we had our ,spring scamper among the fields4 ,it will befit these graver months of the year soberly to walk now4 ,and a quiet sauntering walk over the fields is in truth a delightful thing upon a ,summer's day4 ,how delicious to thread the narrow parting through the deep hay1 just ready to be cut1 meadow after meadow full of tall1 silky1 waving grass2 here a patch feathery1 and of silvery lilac hue2 here the rough crowfoot2 here the drooping oat-grass2 here trembling1 delicate pyramids2 here miniature bulrushes2 and1 choice and rare1 the graceful quaking grass1 with its thin filaments1 and its fruit shot with faint purple1 and pale green1 and light brown4 ,numberless flowers1--gold1 and rose1 and crimson1 and lilac1 and amethyst1--these smile up at you close to the path1 and give a sweet hint of stronger colour1 far away throughout the hues and many unpronounced tints of the grass4 ,you spring over a stile1 and1 sweet surprise6 come upon a field half-mown4 ,it is the first you have seen this year1--the first deep ranks of close tall growth falling before the scythe1--the first scent of hay2 and the first waft of this is to the scent what the first note of the cuckoo is to the ear4 ,there the deep swathes lie in long rows1 the innocent sweet flowers looking up at first with something of sad wonder1 but soon drooping in a death which shall not be called untimely1 because it is useful1 and following on completed work4 ,of it we may say with the wise king1 that 8being made perfect in a short time1 it fulfilled a long time40 ,and1 like a loved memory after a holy death1 the scent of the dying grass and flowers lingers sweetly in the soft air4 ,well1 we surmount another stile1 and enter a wheat-field4 ,how beautiful the myriad stalks and the broad drooping leaves1 of a more sober bluer green than that of grass6 ,i always notice that as soon as the hay is made1 or making1 the full bulging sheaths of the wheat begin to open1 and to divulge the secret wealth of the green ear4 ,the pointed flag falls over it2 but very soon it bursts the swaddling bands1 and rises proudly above the now obsequious deposed leaves1 like an heir above his nurses4 ,and then the whole wheat-field stands in blossom1 the little trembling stamens escaping all over the husks1 and the great width of tall ears begins its solemn stately waving and bending1 and its undying whisper in the faint warm ,summer airs4 ,illustration ,and through the long colonnades there are here also sweet and fair flowers3 the bright pimpernel1 the dull-grey cud-weed1 the glad speedwell1 the small blue forget-me-not1 the white feverfew1--these are the low carpet growth4 ,then higher1 and like illuminations hung through the columns1 there is the rich blue corn-flower1 and the purple corn-cockle in its green star-shaped cup2 and last in order1 but almost first in beauty1 the glorious scarlet poppy1 with its satin-black eye1--a flower of dazzling splendour1 but calumniated and ill-used beyond my endurance4 8,flaunting poppies10 indeed6 ,why1 they are the drooping banners of ,god's army of the corn6 ,here they are waving out in all their glory2 here they are folded up 7somewhat crumpled7 within that green case1 out of which they are gleaming1 just ready to be unfurled for the march4 ,i love the violet--none better2 but ,i protest against the folly1 and1 in a minor degree1 injustice1 of instituting an inane comparison between it and the poppy1 to the discredit of my favourite of the corn-fields4 ,a better lesson might be taught by pointing out how each fulfils the duties of that state to which it has pleased ,god to call it3 the sweet violet among its leaves1 like the modest wife at home2 the brave poppy among the open and wealthy corn-fields1 like the husband called out into the business of the thronged world4 ,this is a digression1 however4 ,let us get back to ,summer days1 and the fallen grass1 and the wide wheat-fields in flower4 ,many days have not passed before that flower falls1 and the delicate paleness of the new-born ear passes away1 and the corn-fields settle down to the grave work of the year4 8,long grass swaying in the playing of the almost wearied breeze2 ,flowers bowed beneath a crowd of the tawny-armoured bees2 ,sumptuous forests1 filled with twilight1 like a dreamy old romance2 ,rivers falling1 rivers calling1 in their indolent advance40 ,that was all very well in the year's early manhood1 scarcely distinguishable from youth4 ,but a more prosaic gravity has toned down those romantic feelings1 and it has discovered that there is work1 grave work--work sometimes a little wearisome and dull--to be done4 ,the fairy lightness and greenness1 the delicacy and exquisite freshness1 of the year1 have passed away4 ,it is not ,dream-land any longer--not a scene of faint rose-flushed or dazzling white blossom1 but of hushed1 sober colour1 and of somewhat of monotony and sameness4 ,the fair ,bride fruit-trees are clad in dark garments now1 and busy with their families of little unripe things1 that have to be educated into ripeness and usefulness4 ,the oaks are no more clad in 8glad light green0 or very red leaves1 and the elms have toned down even the little brightening up of ,summer growth at the end of their branches1 all into that quiet1 dust-dulled1 dark hue4 ,and so with all the trees2 and under the tall growth of the copses there is not the play and dance of myriad butterflies of sunlight in soft meadows of shade2 but the shadow is almost gloomy1 and the stillness is quite solemn4 ,thin tall grass or broad grave ferns have taken the place of the sheets of glad primroses1 and bright wood anemones1 and azure hyacinths1 and rich orchis4 ,there is no disguising it3 the freshness and first energy of things has spent itself and gone1 the landscape is dulled and dustied4 ,a little while ago every day was different2 now every day seems much the same4 ,there is not the constant progression1 the still developing beauty1 the ever new delights of every new day4 ,new birds to greet1 new clothing for the meadows1 new carpets for the woods1 new glories for the trees3 all these 8,faded in the distance1 where the thickening leaves were piled40 ,and the year has done with its extravagantly profuse promises1 its eager pressing on to some ideal and impossible beauty not yet attained1 never to be attained1 though it would not believe this1 in those old inexperienced days1 when it cast away blossom and freshness of leaf as things that did but impede it1 in the impatience of its hurry after that ,perfection which is a dream on earth1 though it be true in ,heaven4 ,true also in ,him1 in whom earth and ,heaven have met2 this stooping to the tangible1 and that raised to the sublime4 ,yes1 the year seems at a standstill now1 and sobered down1 and sedate1 and hushed4 ,above all1 it is silent4 ,those ecstatic melodies1 those 8pans clear10 that rang out through the groves--the song of the willow-wren1 the thrush1 the blackbird1 the blackcap1 the nightingale--all are silent4 ,even the little robin has no voice for ,summer days2 only the yellow-hammer reiterates its short1 plaintive1 monotonous note on the dusty wayside hedge4 8,dear is the morning gale of ,spring1 ,and dear th' autumnal eve2 ,but few delights can ,summer bring ,a poet's crown to weave4 8,her bowers are mute1 her fountains dry1 ,and ever ,fancy's wing ,speeds from beneath her cloudless sky ,to ,autumn or to ,spring4 8,sweet is the infant's waking smile1 ,and sweet the old man's rest2 ,but middle age by no fond wile1 ,no soothing calm is blest40 ,sweet ,summer days6 ,i am far from meaning to depreciate you1 or to deny to you the need of much beauty and calm delight2 but it is true1 nevertheless1 and must be conceded1 that the poet's complaint has some ground of reason4 ,we miss something in ,summer days3 it must ever be so in this world4 ,attainment must ever disappoint3 reality is another thing from the image of our dreams4 ,the finished painting is not all that the first rough sketch hinted and shadowed out4 ,spring may be high-spirited and eager--,summer must ever be grave1 and hushed1 and sedate4 ,and what then8 ,something is missed3 but is nothing found8 ,what is the year doing in the gravity1 and monotony1 and silence of ,summer days8 ,our life is much like that of the year4 ,it has its ,spring and its ,summer1 its ,autumn and its ,winter4 ,we1 too1 pass out of youth1 and excitement1 and impetuosity1 and hope1 into manhood1 and gravity1 and calmness--and disappointment4 ,what1 then1 is the year doing in this stage of its life8 ,if we look aside from our own experience to its example1 what does that example teach us8 ,the question1 8,what is the year doing80 suggests the answer to our inquiries4 ,the year is doing4 ,it is gravely1 quietly1 perseveringly at work4 ,and earnest1 hearty1 steady work at that which ,god has given us to do--work hearty1 if a little dull and monotonous--this is the lesson taught by ,summer days4 ,work1 steady work1 dry1 monotonous work1 aye1 this is the lesson of ,life's ,summer2 this succeeds its dream-time1 this precedes its rest4 ,yes1 in truth1 the ,spring anticipation and eager energy have gone4 ,the ,autumn repose has not yet come4 ,the year is gravely1 and steadily1 and prosaically at work now2 its ardour and ecstasies calmed1 its wild impossible hopes toned down1 its grace of blossom vanished4 ,all vegetation is busy1 maturing seed and fruit1 sober grain and useful hay4 ,the earth1 like her child1 the ant1 8,provideth her meat in the summer1 ,and gathereth her food in the harvest40 ,toiling in the dust and heat2 toiling without rest1 wearily often1 uncheered by songs4 ,for the little choristers of the trees are themselves grave and sedate now1 and busied with their nests1 and with the care of rearing their family4 ,there is little change1 save a deepening of colour2 the morning finds the earth still ceaselessly at work1 and in the tender evenings and grey nights1 the glimpsing lightnings and the intent stars disclose or behold the same scene3 8,rapid1 rosy-tinted lightnings1 where the rocky clouds are riven1 ,like the lifting of a veil before the inner courts of heaven3 ,silver stars in azure evenings1 slowly climbing up the steep03 ,what do these still discover8 ,what but 8,corn-fields ripening to the harvest1 and the wide seas smooth with sleep40 ,let ,summer days then teach us1 as1 one after one1 they greet us and depart1 their wise1 but unobtruded lesson4 ,the ,summer time being the time of grave steady work1 and there being also such a time in our lives1 a time of dust1 and heat1 and toil1 when our spirits sometimes seem to flag1 and the very sameness of labour brings over us a depression1 and a lingering longing after the time of blossom1 and of clear new verdure2 there being this resemblance between us1 let us examine the year's work1 if perhaps we may gather some hints for ours4 ,how does the year work8 and how should we work1 when that first zest that made work easy has gone1 and the time of rest is on the other side of our labour4 ,the year works thoroughly1 more implicitly obedient than man to this teaching of its ,maker1 8,whatsoever thy hand findeth to do1 do it with thy might40 ,god seems to have made1 in all the wonderful animal and vegetable growth which surrounds us1 some to honour1 and some to dishonour4 ,even as with nations1 there were the chosen people1 and there were those left yet degraded--and as with individuals1 there are those whose work is to evangelise a world1 and there are those whose work is to follow the plough1 or to order the household--so it is with plants1 and flowers1 and trees4 ,and from this point of view we shall find that they have much to teach us in our work4 ,how thoroughly it is all done1 and with the might2 the noble as well as the homely work6 ,there are some plants busy maturing groundsel-seed and beech-mast1 some maturing strawberries1 and peaches1 and pines4 ,but each does its utmost1 and the work of the inferior degree is equal in quality with that of the higher4 ,the shepherd's-purse and the thistledown are as perfectly and exquisitely finished1 as are the apricot and the grape4 ,and this strikes me as leading up to a cheering and beautiful thought--to a thought which has often occurred to me in reading the parable of the ,talents4 ,there is1 let me remark1 this difference between this parable and that of the ,pounds3 that in the one case the work was equal in quality1 bearing exactly the same proportion to the advantages1 which were dissimilar2 in the other case the advantages and opportunities were the same for each1 but the work was unequal and greatly differing in quality4 ,thus each has its separate teaching4 ,and in this parable of the ,talents1 the same heartening thought came to me as that wafted from fields1 and trees1 and gardens1 on the breath of ,summer days4 ,it was cheering1 and a matter of much thankfulness1 to recollect that it was possible1 in a low condition1 and with less advantages1 to serve ,god in the same proportion with the greatest of ,god's saints3 to fight as well and as nobly in the ranks as any officer could do who waved his soldiers to the charge4 ,it was1 ,i say1 very comforting to read1 after 8,lord1 thou deliveredst unto me five talents3 behold1 ,i have gained beside them five talents more02 and the 8,well done0 that followed--it was exceedingly sweet to read1 farther on1 8,he also that had received two talents came and said1 ,lord1 thou deliveredst unto me two talents3 behold1 ,i have gained two other talents beside them40 ,and then to hear just the same ringing glorious words1 8,well done60 words that come like a burst of joy-bells across the heart4 ,for ,i said to myself1 8,cheer up1 and be bold1--humble1 insignificant1 lowly though thou be1 and sorrowfully1 impotently longing to do great things1 to fight a good fight1 for ,him who died for thee and rose again4 ,yea1 be of good courage1 and do even thy best with that thou hast4 ,the one had ten talents to bring1 the other but four1 yet cheerily1 bravely1 modestly1 did he bring them2 the amount was different1 the work was the same4 ,each had wrought in the same proportion4 ,he with five talents had indeed doubled them4 ,but he with two talents had likewise doubled these40 ,therefore1 men1 my brothers1 women1 my sisters1 let us thank ,god and take courage4 ,let us not repine if our sphere be narrow1 and our work seemingly insignificant2 let us not look enviously at those with great talents1 and grand opportunities1 and wide work4 ,let us take heart1 as we look at the tiny wayside plant1 and at the laden fruit-tree1 all at work1 under the sun1 in the quiet ,summer days4 ,there is no caprice1 but there is much to surprise us in the allotment of work in ,god's world4 ,so1 art thou an oak1 capable1 as it seems to thee1 of great deeds and noble fruit8 ,scorn not1 however1 to spend thy life making and maturing acorns1 if thus it please ,god to employ thee4 ,art thou a lowly strawberry plant1 weak1 and easily trampled1 and 7thou deemest7 capable of nothing worthy8 ,shrink not1 at ,god's bidding1 to endeavour to fashion rich and precious fruit1 which1 if thou art patient and faithful1 ,god's rain shall nourish1 and ,his sun shall ripen4 ,such an oak might ,st4 ,paul have seemed1 chained to the ,roman soldiers1 yet ,i wot he then fashioned acorns1 whose branches have since overspread the world4 ,such a lowly plant was ,moses1 deprecating ,god's behests at the burning bush4 ,yet ,i trow that was noble fruit that he was enabled to mature4 ,illustration ,for the comfortable thought is1 that we work not in our own strength1 nor from our own resources4 ,god supplies strength and material1 and then undoubtedly it is for us to use them4 ,yet the principle of growth is ,his gift2 and so also are the sun1 and the wind1 and the rain4 ,without ,him1 we can do nothing4 ,but with ,him1 everything4 8,i can do all things1--through ,christ which strengtheneth me40 ,let us then be brave-hearted and true-hearted1 and learn this lesson from the earth's work under the sun4 ,never to envy nor to repine1 nor to be amazed at life1 but just to give all our heart to the maturing and perfecting the work which ,god has entrusted to us to do for ,him--if in the garden bed1 the choice fruit2 if by the wayside1 the small seed which ,he has prepared for us to tend4 ,let us work thoroughly1 in these short ,summer days4 ,another hint from the year's work4 ,it works leisurely1 bringing forth fruit with patience4 ,thus the poets sweetly describe its work3 8,lo6 in the middle of the wood1 ,the folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud1 ,with winds upon the branch1 and there ,grows green and broad1 and takes no care1 ,sun-steeped at noon1 and in the moon ,nightly dew-fed2 and1 turning yellow1 ,falls and floats adown the air4 ,lo6 sweetened with the ,summer light1 ,the full-juiced apple1 waxing over-mellow1 ,drops in a silent ,autumn night4 ,all its allotted length of days ,the flower ripens in its place1 ,ripens1 and fades1 and falls1 and hath no toil1 ,fast rooted in the fruitful soil40 ,thus flower1 and leaf1 and fruit1 do their part thoroughly1 and expect ,god's blessing patiently1 and trustfully leave all to ,him4 ,there is no hurry1 though there is no idleness or slackness4 ,again1 as a contrast to our heat and fever1 and hurry1 and distrust1 regard the sublime calm of nature3 8,sweet is the leisure of the bird1 ,she craves no time for work deferred2 ,her wings are not to aching stirred1 ,providing for her helpless ones4 8,fair is the leisure of the wheat2 ,all night the damps about it fleet1 ,all day it basketh in the heat1 ,and grows1 and whispers orisons4 8,grand is the leisure of the earth2 ,she gives her happy myriads birth1 ,and after harvest fears not dearth1 ,but goes to sleep in snow wreaths dim40 ,illustration ,yes1 as the ,great ,teacher said 7and the saying seems to me one of the most suggestive of even ,his sayings71 the earth brings forth her fruit with patience4 ,and now1 what a contrast is this to our work6 ,how distrustful1 how impatient we are6 ,how apt to be in a hurry6 ,we would have the whole long ,summer's work done in the first short ,spring day4 ,we want the leaves perfect1 and the blossom gone1 and the fruit not only set1 but ripened all at once4 ,we cannot ourselves bring forth fruit with patience1 nor be content to wait its gradual growth and ripening in others4 ,i give two examples of this4 ,one is of the education of children4 ,we want the ripe fruit1 too often1 before the bud has even well developed for the bloom4 ,what unnatural precocity do some well-meaning religious parents bring out1 and exult over1 in the little delicate undeveloped minds that ,god has given to their care4 ,it pains me to read the stories that are so prized by some people4 ,they force upon one the sense of such utter unreality4 ,what experience has that infant mind gathered of the deep feelings and inward struggles1 the defeats and victories1 the repentances and recoveries1 the depressions and ecstasies1 the wrestlings in prayer1 the astonishments1 the dismays1 the failings1 and the attainments1 that are familiar to the veteran in the battles of the ,lord8 ,and yet we would make him talk the language of the soldier of the hundred fights1 when1 only very lately brought into the camp1 he does but sit among the tents1 hardly yet even seeing or hearing 8,the distant battle flash and ring40 ,experience will come1 but until he has had it1 why should you require its tokens8 ,the war is at hand1 but is it wise to bid him ape its trophies while its grim earnest is scarcely yet to him a dream8 ,parents1 anxious parents1 heartily do ,i sympathise with your yearnings4 ,you long to know certainly that your child is indeed a faithful and obedient child of ,god4 ,nevertheless1 to hurry the work is often to mar it4 ,forced fruit1 if you get it1 is poor and flavourless1 compared to the natural growth4 ,and how much falls blighted from the bough6 ,you have seen gooseberries red before full grown1 and while others about them were green4 ,but you know that this is not ripeness1 but only its caricature4 ,and ,i have seen such a mere painful caricature in the talk and conduct of the child4 ,be content1 8,learn to labour1--and to wait40 ,put in the seed watchfully1 wisely1 diligently1 not rashly1 nor over profusely2 pray before1 and during1 and after the sowing2 and then trust to ,god and wait4 ,dig not up the seed to see if it is sprouting2 despair not if through long ,winter months scarce any tender blade appear2 suffer that the ground which ye have diligently1 painfully1 prayerfully sown1 should bring forth fruit with patience4 ,my other instance is that of the desire and endeavour for holiness4 ,how many that are but beginners in the race1 chafe and fret because they cannot be at once at the goal4 ,how many a one1 but a babe in holiness1 expects to be at once a man1 without the gradual growth1 the patient succession of day and night1 and sun and shower1 through this dusty toilsome ,summer of our life4 ,and depression1 discouragement1 sometimes falling away1 results on this unwise hurry4 ,the seed tries to grow with unnatural rapidity1 and1 therefore1 having no root1 it withers away4 ,oh wait1 and work1 and trust1 seedling saint1 and fear not but that ,god will send the full growth3 yea1 if thou wilt1 even bid thee bend with fruit an hundredfold for ,him4 ,only remember1 ,god's order is1 first the blade1 then the ear1 then the full corn in the ear4 ,yes1 let us take comfort from the thought of the gradual growth and ripening of ,summer days4 ,every day's sun1 every night's dew1 add a little4 ,and at last the grain bows heavy and ripe1 and the fruit reddens upon the branch1 and weighs it towards the ground--that was once but a thin weak blade1 or a small crude1 sour1 green bullet4 ,and---for an ending of the discourse of ,summer days--working thoroughly1 and working patiently1 the earth also works steadily on1 and in spite of discouragement2 of the loss of many dreams1 and the experience of many failures4 ,its songs have gone2 its freshness is over-gloomed2 and dust has gathered upon its light and glory4 ,blights1 and caterpillars1 and frosts1 have marred much2 and the poetry and early fascination of ,spring is over now4 ,but it goes on steadily1 in the dry ,summer glare1 in the drought1 and dust1 and silence2 patiently1 uncheered by showers1 and with many a leaf curling1 many a fruit dropping4 ,though life often seems monotonous1 and prosaic1 and dry1 it none the less steadily and persistently1 and without giving up or losing heart1 toils on4 ,ah1 thus in our ,summer days1 in the time of our manhood1 when life's poetry has fled1 and we are not that we wished to be1 and we do not that we wished to do2 and the romance1 and the glory1 and the glitter of the once distant warfare1 when 8,among the tents we paused and sung10 has resolved itself into the stern realities1 and prose1 and smirch1 and dust1 of the long toilsome march1 the weary watching1 and the sob and sweat of the struggle and the contest2 when this is so1 let us gravely1 solemnly settle down to the1 at first sight1 uncheered duties and blank programme of the work of ,summer days4 ,yes1 when the dull every-day routine of dry work is near to making us heart-sick and over-tired2 when 8,still in the world's hot1 restless gleam ,we ply our weary task1 ,while vainly for some pleasant dream ,our restless glances ask10 let us remember that1 whatever our work be1 so it be honest1 ,god gave it us to do1 and the homeliest act1 or repetition of monotonous acts1 is ennobled1 if the motive be noble1 and the labour stedfast and brave--if it be done heartily and well1 as to the ,lord1 and not as unto men4 ,think of ,st4 ,paul making tents--yea1 of ,,christ in the carpenter's shop--and weary not--oh sick at heart1 and disappointed of youth's sweet ,spring dreams and high imaginings6--of the work--however homely1 however monotonous1 however dull and prosaic--which yet ,god hath given thee to be done4 ,friends1 let us work in ,summer days4 ,the ,spring is past2 we will not1 therefore1 spend our golden hours in useless regrets4 ,the ,autumn has not yet come4 ,but the ,summer is with us now4 ,beyond it there may be a land of ,beulah1 even here1 when the dust1 and toil1 and strain pass by a little1 and something of the old-remembered brightness of colour and beauty flushes over the land4 ,whether or no such an ,autumn-quiet be attained1 the ,summer will pass1 and the great ,winter sleep will come4 ,and beyond that there shall be ,spring without its evanescence1 ,summer without its toil and weariness1 and ,autumn without its melancholy and death4 ,beyond the short labour of ,summer days1 8,there remaineth a rest for the people of ,god40 ,let us1 therefore1 labour1 that we may enter into that rest4 ,illustration ,,musings ,,in ,,the ,,hay4 ,illustration ,ah6 now ,i am seated as ,i love to be1 the ,june blue over me1 and the sweet1 warm1 new-made hay underneath4 ,on the shadow side of a great haycock1 here have ,i selected my seat1 plunging down and feeling the soft cushion give1 until it has attained consistency enough to resist me4 ,i have been busy1 very busy1 all this week1 and the week before that1 and indeed several weeks back4 ,and ,i have earned1 and mean to indulge in1 a quiet long afternoon1 and perhaps evening1 in the hay-field4 ,i have a book with me1 but ,i do not pledge myself to read much4 ,i have not come out here to read2 not to do much1 indeed1 but just to sit and muse1 nay1 chiefly to enjoy the feeling of being able to rest4 ,to feel that there is1 or shall be1 so far as ,i can choose1 no call for the remainder of this day upon anxious heart and weary brain2 no parish troubles2 no sick1 whose silent cry in the distance forbids the pastor to sit still2 no sermon1 no article1 to think out or to write2 no letters to pour into that insatiable post-office1--the true sieve of the ,danaids2 not even any gardening to do or to superintend2 no1 nothing necessary but to sit on the side of a haycock 8in the leafy month of ,june40 ,we may go on and on in the round of every day's business1 on and on1 unpausing1 till we drop3 the mere energy of spinning may keep us up1 though perhaps on a weak and tottering peg2 and work begets work2 and busy day will chase busy day like the sails of a windmill2 and we hardly dare stop1 because we foreknow how we shall then have a long bill to pay1 all the arrears of those fatigues and that weariness that we bade stand aside as we laboured on2 and we know that if we once stop to give them a hearing1 it will be hard work to set the heavy machinery going again4 ,for myself1 ,i often feel that to go on working1 is to be able to work2 to pause is to collapse1 and to feel incapable4 ,still1 in fact1 we make life go farther by careful trading1 than by spending all our capital at once4 ,and both for purposes of devotional retirement and of necessary recreation1 it is well sometimes just 8to sport our oak0 7to speak in ,oxford phrase7 upon the noisy and importunate throng of things clamorous to be done1 and yet which1 if discharged1 would but give place to as many more4 ,i could dizzy my brain with thoughts of business that ,i might do1 and want to do4 ,but for some weeks ,i have worked on and worked on1 hoping to satisfy all claims2 waiting for a pause1 which never would come2 and now ,i will no longer wait for it1 but make it4 ,away6 crowding calls1 for this afternoon1 for all the rest of this day4 ,the wrestling1 restless1 toiling1 moiling1 weary world is quite shut out from me behind this mighty chain of haycocks4 ,i hear the sharpening of scythes1 and their long sweep in the bending swathes2 once or twice in the afternoon a cuckoo sails with broad wing over me1 and voice which stammers now near the end of his monotonous but prized oration2 there is a scattered rain of larks' songs falling all around2 and1 on a hedge near by1 the short plaintive cadence of the yellow-hammer's few notes4 ,illustration ,grass is always beautiful1--thus ,i am led to think as1 leaning on one arm1 ,i inspect the material of my couch4 ,beautiful after the winter lethargy1 and when it grows lush and green1 vividly green1 and taller and taller under the showers1 at the roots of the pines that step forward here and there from the shrubberies into the lawn4 ,beautiful again1 when the scythe and mowing-machine have destroyed this beauty1 and substituted that of the smooth1 well-kept velvet sward4 ,beautiful1 growing in the meadows1 and deepening for hay2 a sweet close under-growth of white or dull pink clover2 of orange-flowered trefoil2 of purple self-heal2 of bright yellow-rattle2 of small red orchis2 of orchis pale lilac specked with dark2 and1 more desultory and thinner1 above these the tall grass and flower-stalks3 8all grass of silky feather02 bright rose ragged-robin2 white ox-eye daisy2 brimstone toad-flax2 tall buttercups2 pale pink centaury2 numberless varieties of fringed flowers1 all yellow2 and bobbing myriads of the ribwort plantain1 to which we are all1 when children1 very ,henry ,,viii4's2 tall slight sorrel2 tougher dock4 ,beautiful1 when the scythe has laid all this in broad1 lowly lines upon the whole face of the field2 and the mowers advance yet steadily upon the long yielding ranks4 ,beautiful when the green has turned grey1 and the brighter colours of the flowers are dull1 the clover not yet brown1 only faded1 the yellow tassels showing1 as they droop1 the paler under-wing of the closing flower1 the buttercups spoiled of their square varnished petals1 and showing only the green spiked ball1 the miniature head of ,gog or ,magog's mace4 ,beautiful to lie in the grey mounds of the soft1 fragrant1 new-made hay1 dying1 if this be to die1 so graciously1 and sweetly1 and blessingly2 lovely in life1 and sweet in death4 ,beautiful when even this bloom-grey has gone1 and we shake out from their close-pressed sleep the loose masses of the yellow hay1 and brown leaves and flowers1 all1 however1 still fragrant1 and full of hints in ,winter days1 of the warm ,summer4 ,beautiful when the last cart is carried1 and the rick is being thatched1 and a pale bright under-growth has given to the dry hot field1 in the parched ,summer-time1 something of a faint imitation of the early green of ,spring4 ,so ,i lean1 listless1 idle1 and examine my couch4 ,much ,i find to examine in it2 besides the embalmed flowers1 there is a small zoological garden--brown ants climbing up the pole of an upright grass-stem2 leopard-spotted lady-birds2 alligator grasshoppers2 woolly-bear caterpillars2 bird-of-paradise butterflies4 ,i am left alone with these1 and so can be quite quiet2 for ,i am in the rear of the haymakers4 8,all in a row ,advancing broad1 or wheeling round the field1 ,while1 as they rake the green-appearing ground1 ,and drive the dusky wave along the mead1 ,the russet haycock rises thick behind40 ,and my couch is one of these same pale hills that they have done with4 ,my wife is away with the children3 ,i shall not therefore run the risk of being buried1 with shouts1 under the piled heaps of the hay4 ,my servant has gone out for a walk3 ,i thus escape the apprehension of seeing her advance into my field steering among the haycocks1 and1 with hand shading her eyes1 looking about all over its wide glare for me4 ,i can lean on this arm until it is tired1 then change to the other1 then lie on my back and watch the fleecy blue1 with handkerchief spread for fear of insects2 then turn over again1 and resume my inspection of the grass4 ,i am thus particular in description1 because ,i would fain carry my hay-field into hot ,london4 ,a few distinct details may help out many a memory2 and the clerk really in the baking1 staring ,london street may yet1 if his imagination be my ally1 lean back among the yielding warm-breathed hay to muse with me upon the grass and its teachings4 ,illustration ,for it is1 after all1 impossible to be absolutely doing nothing4 ,the mind1 that busy alchemist1 works on and works on in the worn laboratory of the body1 and transmutes gold into earth1 or earth into gold1 as the case may be1 in its peculiar crucible4 ,and so1 since ,i cannot but muse on the hay into which ,i am closely peering1 ,i may as well also jot my musings down4 99 99 99 99 99 ,flesh1 and grass3 how natural the now common-place connection between the short-lived beauty of the two6 ,it is one of those commonplaces1 however1 which new thoughts could not easily better4 ,the hay-fields1 with their life and glee1 and loveliness of flowers just now1 and now these faded mounds6 ,the generations of men in the gaiety or toil of the world1 and then the churchyard with its 8shadowed swells06 ,half a year for the one growth1 and sometimes less1 sometimes more1 for the other2 but all lying in the bending swathes at last4 ,take the extreme case3 8,all the days of ,methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years40 ,was flesh like grass then8 ,what6 a thousand years akin to the life of a few months8 ,yes1 closely akin2 banded together by the last words of the life of both2 for how ends the short history of the longest liver of mortal men8 8----and he died40 ,yea1 the growth1 the ripening was longer in progress1 but the scythe came at last3 8,the voice said1 ,cry4 ,and he said1 ,what shall ,i cry8 ,all flesh is grass1--and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field2 ,the grass withereth1 the flower fadeth40 ,and again3 8,man that is born of a woman is of few days1 and full of trouble4 ,he cometh forth like a flower1 and is cut down3 ,he fleeth also as a shadow1 and continueth not40 ,and again3 8,as for man1 his days are as grass3 as a flower of the field1 so he flourisheth4 ,for the wind passeth over it1 and it is gone2 ,and the place thereof shall know it no more40 ,and again3 8,in the morning they are like grass which groweth up2 ,in the morning it flourisheth and groweth up2 ,in the evening it is cut down1 and withereth40 ,oh1 faded couch on which ,i lean1 here are witnesses enough of the highest authority of all1 to establish a brotherhood between us6 ,i look at these hands which can write and work1 ,i look at these limbs which can rise and go1 ,i consider the brain which can busily toil3--and from these ,i turn to regard the dry heap that once was living grass2--and ,i think how slack1 and void of energy1 and lifeless will these also lie1 in the long swathes which ever and ever fall before the advancing mower1 ,death4 8#8,consider well1' the voice replied1 #8,his face1 that two hours since hath died2 ,wilt thou find passion1 pain1 or pride8'0 ,no2 each lies in that especial long line of mown grass that we call his generation3 8,also their love1 and their hatred1 and their envy1 is now perished2 neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun40 ,flesh1 and grass3 are they not akin8 ,these ever-succeeding generations2--how the grass still grows after every mowing4 8,one generation passeth away1 and another generation cometh02 --there is not a word of abiding at all1 says ,archbishop ,leighton4 ,but1 however1 there is a notice of constant succession1 and the grass grows as fast as it is mown4 ,load after load is added to the store of ,eternity2 but the mower ,death knows no pause4 ,ever and ever the tall grass and the sweet flowers bend before that industrious scythe4 ,where is the glad growth of fifty years ago2 and where the life that preceded that2 and so on1 back to ,adam8 ,in long fallen ranks they lie1 generation parallel with generation1 all across the wide field of the world's history4 ,flowers1 and plain grass1 and wholesome fodder1 and prickly thistles1 and poison weeds1 they bowed at the edge of the scythe2 so far they are equal3 8,there is one event to the righteous1 and to the wicked2 to the good and to the clean1 and to the unclean2 to him that sacrificeth1 and to him that sacrificeth not2 as is the good1 so is the sinner2 and he that sweareth1 as he that feareth an oath4 ,this is an evil among all things that are done under the sun1 that there is one event unto all40 ,yes1 all lie in the swathes1 and are equal there2 the almost bitter saying of the wise man1 to whom sin had made even wisdom sadness1 is so far true4 ,true while we consider the field after the scythe2 true while we look on ,death1 but not applying any longer when we imagine the ,resurrection4 ,a very ,life shall revive1 or a very ,death shall wither1 each stalk of the myriads that lie waiting in the field1 each in the place where it fell4 99 99 99 99 99 ,i cannot help being also reminded by this history of mowing and growing1 of the special field of each human life1 with its ever springing1 ever falling hopes and dreams4 ,one day it is a carpet of brightness and glory2 the next1 the withered lines lie on the bare field4 ,yet look closer1 and you will find already the tender green of a new growth appearing to clothe the scarred meadow4 ,a constant succession1 ever mown and still growing2 every year and often in the year a fresh attire1 however the heart1 when that common-place desolation was new to it1 refused in dismay to believe in the possibility of any further crops4 ,fond thing6 even while it thus protested1 the grass had already begun to grow2 and it was in vain to try in sullenness or self-respect to check the smiling flowers that would crowd up over the ruin4 ,many a one of us can say1 of some past sorrow1 that1 8,when less keen it seemed to grow1 ,i was not pleased--,i wished to go ,mourning adown this vale of woe1 ,for all my life uncomforted40 ,it could not be1 except in the case of a hypochondriac4 ,in healthy lands the growth cannot be checked4 8,i thought that ,i should never more ,feel any pleasure near me glow03 and again3 8,i grudged myself the lightsome air1 ,that makes men cheerful unaware2 ,when comfort came1 ,i did not care ,to take it in1 to feel it stir40 ,after that devastating flood you did not care to take in the dove with the olive-leaf2 you had rather sit moodily alone4 ,very well for a time1 but 8will you nill you10 the second crop begins to cover the scars4 ,and soon you can tranquilly and thankfully say1 8,but ,i have learned1 though this ,i had1 ',tis sometimes natural to be glad1 ,and no man can be always sad1 ,unless he wills to have it so40 ,for it is an ordinance of ,god that the grass shall keep on growing4 99 99 99 99 99 ,but1 of course1 especially1 and above all1 the analogy before indicated is that which connects this brief life of ours with the grass of the field4 ,we are1 above all1 alike in our frailty and evanescence4 8,all flesh is as grass1 and all the glory of man as the flower of grass4 ,the grass withereth1 and the flower thereof falleth away40 ,how exquisitely ,archbishop ,leighton comments upon this text6 ,an idea so anciently true as almost to have become1 in our ordinary speech1 common-place1 blossoms into new beauty under his holy thought4 ,so1 however1 do what seem to ordinary thinkers bare rods in the teaching of the ,bible1 yet bloom and bear fruit abundantly in the shrine of a congenial heart4 8,all flesh is as grass40 ,yes1 he expands it1 and 8grass hath its root in the earth1 and is fed by the moisture of it for awhile2 but1 besides that1 it is under the hazard of such weather as favours it not1 or of the scythe that cuts it down1 give it all the forbearance that may be1 let it be free from both those1 yet how quickly will it wither of itself6 ,set aside those many accidents1 the smallest of which is able to destroy our natural life1 the diseases of our own bodies and outward violences1 and casualties that cut down many in their greenness1 in the flower of their youth1 the utmost term is not long2 in the course of nature it will wither4 ,our life indeed is a lighted torch1 either blown out by some stroke or some wind2 or1 if spared1 yet within awhile it burns away1 and will die out of itself40 ,a new idea is here given us as to the mowing4 ,this poet makes the scythe to be the sweeping of disease or accident or violence that every day prostrate their thousands2 accidents or violence represent the mowing2 and there is1 beside these1 the withering too4 ,as though a field of deep grass should be left unmown2 yet how soon then would its life and light and laughter depart1 and a skeleton array of thin1 sere1 shivering yellow stalks meet the ,october winds4 ,even if unmown1 we must wither1 and either will at times seem saddest to us1 until we remember that this field is but the field of ,time1 and that the eternal ,god is ordering all4 ,but ,leighton proceeds to develope another exquisite thought1 which to many would lie hidden and unperceived in the short and simple word of ,god--8,all flesh is as grass1 and all the glory of man as the flower of grass40 ,on the hint of this latter member of the sentence he speaks3 8,there is indeed a great deal of seeming difference betwixt the outward conditions of life amongst men4 ,shall the rich and honourable and beautiful and healthful go in together1 under the same name1 with the baser and unhappier part1 the poor1 wretched sort of the world1 who seem to be born for nothing but sufferings and miseries8 ,at least1 hath the wise no advantage beyond the fools8 ,is all grass8 ,make you no distinction8 ,no2 all is grass1 or if you will have some other name1 be it so2 once this is true1 that all flesh is grass2 and if that glory which shines so much in your eyes must have a difference1 then this is all it can have--it is but the flower of that same grass2 somewhat above the common grass in gayness1 a little comelier and better apparelled than it1 but partaker of its frail and fading nature2 it hath no privilege nor immunity that way2 yea1 of the two1 is the less durable1 and usually shorter lived2 at the best1 it decays with it--,the grass withereth1 and the flower thereof falleth away40 ,yes1 grass and its flower--loveliness1 might1 wisdom3 ,helen of ,troy shared the fate of the meanest weed2 ,julius ,csar and ,napoleon lie with the rank and file2 ,solomon in his glorious wisdom is at last now equalled with those lilies of the field1 that grass which to-day is1 and to-morrow is cast into the oven4 ,we in the lower rank1 we mere grass of the field1 look at and admire the glory above us1 the flower of the grass1 the choice gifts of intellect1 of power1 of beauty3 but even as we gaze1 and before the scythe can come1 or the sun can wither it1 we miss it--8,the flower thereof fadeth1 and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth03 8,the wind passeth over it1 and it is gone4 ,and the place thereof shall know it no more40 8,the instances are not few1 of those who have on a sudden fallen from the top of honour into the foulest disgraces1 not by degrees coming down the stair they went up1 but tumbled down headlong4 ,and the most vigorous beauty and strength of body1 how doth a few days' sickness1 or1 if it escape that1 a few years' time1 blast that flower60 ,and1 sadder still1 we must feel it to be1 the ornaments of the mind are as short-lived2 and we watch1 with the keenest regret1 great intellects quenched by decay or death1 and minds that are the most stored with knowledge and learning cut off in a day4 8,yea1 those higher advantages which have somewhat both of truer and more lasting beauty in them1 the endowments of wit1 and learning1 and eloquence1 yea1 and of moral goodness and virtue1 yet they cannot rise above this world1 they are still1 in all their glory1 but the flower of grass2 their root is in the earth4 ,when men have endured the toil of study night and day1 it is but a small parcel of knowledge they can attend to1 and they are forced to lie down in the dust in the midst of their pursuit of it2 that head that lodges most sciences shall within a while be disfurnished of them all2 and the tongue that speaks most languages be silenced40 ,illustration ,yes1 and again ,i look at the jumble of common grass and flower of grass1 and bright blossoms all withered1 in which ,i am reclining1 and think how our bright days and our commonplace days1 our ordinary life and our pageants1 fade into dulness even as we live on1 and are all swept down at last1 as it seems to a superficial thinker1 into one common oblivion by ,death4 8,what is become of all the pompous solemnities of kings and princes at their births and marriages1 coronations and triumphs8 ,they are now as a dream40 ,and so with our first flushes of success1 our earliest tastes of fame1 our new ecstasies of love1 our wonders and admirations when life was young--where are they very soon8 ,lying in the mown ranks1 void of their living movement and vivid lustre2 numbered with the heap of every-day events and emotions2 still distinguished from these1 still marked as flowers1 but the glory of them dried out under the air of use and the sun of experience4 ,precious they are still1 and dear1 but the dreams of youth are not to ,age what ,youth imagined them2 the hay is valuable and sweet1 but it is not that field which the least air could stir into a sea of silky light and shade1 and a tossing of myriad colours4 ,it was the ,flower of grass1 and it cannot be1 on earth1 but that 8the grass withereth1 and the flower thereof falleth away40 8,would we consider this1 in the midst of those varieties that toss our light minds to and fro1 it would give us wiser thoughts1 and ballast our hearts2 make them more solid and stedfast in those spiritual endeavours which concern a durable condition1 a being that abides for ever2 in comparison of which the longest term of natural life is less than a moment1 and the happiest estate is but a heap of miseries4 ,were all of us more constantly prosperous than any one of us is1 yet that one thing were enough to cry down the price we put upon this life1 that it continues not4 ,as he answered to one who had a mind to flatter him in the midst of a pompous triumph1 by saying1 ,what is wanting here8 ,continuance1 said he40 ,yes1 this is the moral of it all1 8we have no abiding city40 ,what then8 8,but we seek one to come40 ,and ,st4 ,peter1 if he talk1 it might seem mournfully1 of the fading and dying growth from all earth's sowings1 is not really trying to sadden1 but rather to cheer us4 ,for he has been telling but just now of incorruptible seed2 and he sums up the teaching of the fading grass and its withering glory1 with these words of quietness and confidence1 8,but the ,word of the ,lord endureth for ever40 ,and this is always the distinction between the ,worldling's or the ,sentimentalist's cry of the vanity of human life and of its glory of hopes and loves and ambitions2 and the ,inspired declarations of this vanity4 ,in the former it is but a wind which comes with a blight and passes away with a wail4 ,in the latter1 some better thing is ever held before us1 to which our heart's yearning tendrils1 gently disentangled from their withering support1 may safely cling3 and if the vanities and emptiness of ,time are clearly set before us1 we are offered instead the realities and the fulness of ,eternity4 8,the world passeth away1 and the lust thereof02 yes2 but 8,he that doeth the will of ,god abideth for ever40 ,i have mused away my afternoon1 and the sun is near the hills1 and this day is falling beneath the scythe1 and will soon lie behind me in the swathe1 as ,i advance upon the yet unmown field or strip of my life4 ,there are in this flowers1 and nettles1 and thistles1 no doubt1 and much common undistinguishable grass4 ,ah1 may it1 in the end1 be found to be1 upon the whole1 good and useful hay6 ,yes2 but here the life of man outruns the analogy1 for the days that are passed are not done with3 they remain dried and stored1 either to rise and revive their flowers in far more than their pristine beauty2 or to be burnt as rubbish and waste4 ,nothing that ,god wrought of good or beautiful in us here1 but will1 fresher and fairer than at first1 remain with us hereafter4 ,and there is ,one for whose sake even the nettles and thistles that mixed with the useful grass and fair flowers1 shall have vanished from those hearts that loved ,him1 and be counted as though they had never been4 ,let me lie back for a little while1 as the sun sets1 and a cool air fans me1 to quiet my heart with this happy trust and confidence4 ,illustration ,,the ,,beauty ,,of ,,rain4 ,illustration ,at the time at which ,i am writing1 a soft shower has just fallen4 ,for months we have had scarcely any rain4 ,even the massed primrose roots in the hedges1 with the last few stragglings of their ,easter decorations here and there about them1 have drooped their long broad leaves4 ,the grass and the trees have seemed to remain at a standstill1 as though waiting for something4 ,the plough-land has stood in great unbroken lumps4 ,the marsh-land has gaped open in huge cracks4 ,the ponds have sunk a foot below their usual mark2 the ditches give no savoury smell from their shallow green soup4 ,the roads are like grindstones1 wearing down your shoe-leather with myriad-pointed flint-powder1 and your patience with loose stones that carry your legs away from your control and supervision4 ,the roofs want washing1 the drains want flooding1 the butts want filling4 ,when ,i pour waterpot after waterpot of water about the roots of some favourite or needy plant1 the water runs off the caked ground as though it were a duck's back2 or1 the mould being loosened1 is sucked in1 without the chance of collecting into a pool1 and1 seemingly1 without quenching the fever-thirst of the earth4 ,all things and all people want rain3 the farmers for their land1 the cottager for his garden--a steady three or four hours' downpour1 not only such a slight shower as this1 that1 scarce having browned the beds1 is already drying off from them4 ,just now1 it is certain1 rain would be appreciated1 but still even now more for its usefulness1 than for its beauty4 ,for the beauty of rain is a thing often missed1 ,i think1 even by those who do keep1 as they pass through this world1 a keen eye for the ,creator's thoughts1 embodied in beauty about them3 poems written on the world's open page by the ,hand of the great ,poet1 or ,maker4 ,for1 rightly regarded1 from the vast epic of the starry heavens1 to the simple pastoral of a dewdrop1 or the lyric a bird1 ,god's works are to us the expression of ,his mind1 the language which conveys to us ,his ideas4 ,man's noblest descriptive poetry--what is it but a weak endeavour to interpret to less gifted seers the beautiful thoughts of ,god8 ,and rain is one of these thoughts--a realised idea of the mind of the ,almighty4 ,and since ,i find1 both in men and in books1 a general neglect1 if not a rooted dislike1 with regard to rain--as such1 and putting out of sight its usefulness--,i shall devote a few pages to the endeavour to set forth the beauty of this thought of ,god4 ,illustration ,even ,tennyson1 nature-loving ,tennyson1 what word has he for the rain8 ,of ,enid we are told-- 8,she did not weep1 ,but o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist1 ,like that which kept the heart of ,eden green ,before the useful trouble of the rain40 ,nothing1 then1 even in the desire to praise it1 better than 8useful trouble08 ,i do not think that even ,wordsworth dwells with much frequency or delight on this friend of mine4 ,longfellow has-- 8,the day is cold1 and dark1 and dreary1 ,it rains1 and the wind is never weary40 ,one who sent out1 some years ago1 a volume of unfulfilled promise1 writes-- 8,how beautiful the yesterday that stood ,over me like a rainbow6 ,i am alone1 ,the past is past4 ,i see the future stretch ,all dark and barren as a rainy sea40 ,and so on1 generally2 all that is dreary1 uninviting1 dismal1 seems connected in the ,english mind with rain4 ,in the ,english mind1 ,i say1 for ,i suppose the want of appreciation of it arises from its somewhat abundance in our climate4 ,but how differently is it regarded by the poets of an ,eastern land6 ,how beautiful the description-- 8,thou visitest the earth1 and waterest it2 ,thou greatly enrichest it with the river of ,god1 which is full of water3 ,thou preparest them corn1 when ,thou hast so provided for it3 ,thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly3 ,thou settlest the furrows thereof3 ,thou makest it soft with showers3 ,thou blessest the springing thereof40 ,how lovingly it is spoken of6 ,that 8gracious rain upon ,thine inheritance10 refreshing it when it was weary2 the 8rain upon the mown grass1 and showers that water the earth40 ,how its mention is a signal for thanksgiving--8,sing unto the ,lord1 who covereth the heaven with clouds1 who prepareth rain for the earth40 99 99 99 99 99 ,to be rightly appreciated in our climate1 rain should certainly come after a drought4 ,most people1 no doubt1 then appreciate it1 because of its watering the crops1 or laying the dust4 ,but the true lover of rain regards it not merely or chiefly in this utilitarian matter-of-fact aspect4 ,he has a deep inner enjoyment of the rain1 as rain1 and his sense of its beauty drinks it in as thirstily as does the drinking earth4 ,it refreshes and cools his heart and brain2 he longs to go forth into the fields1 to feel its steady stream1 to scent its fragrance2 to stand under some heavy-foliaged chestnut-tree1 and hear the rushing music on the crowded leaves4 ,let the drought have continued two months2 let the glass have been1 at last1 steadily falling for a day or two2 let1 at last1 a delicious mellow gloom have overspread the hot glaring heavens2 let it have brooded all day1 with a constant momently yet lingering promise of rain4 ,the cattle stand about with a sort of pleasing dreamy anticipation2 they know rain is coming1 and no more muddy shallow ponds1 and dry choking herbage for them4 ,the birds expect it1 and chirp and nestle in the foliage1 important1 excited1 joyful4 ,or some one thrush or blackbird1 amid the chirping hush of the others1 constitutes himself the loud spokesman of their joy4 ,so ,keble-- 8,deep is the silence as of summer noon1 ,when a soft shower ,will trickle soon1 ,a gracious rain1 freshening the weary bower-- ,oh sweetly then far off is heard ,the clear note of some lonely bird40 ,and at last it comes4 ,you hear a patter here and there2 you see a leaf here and there bob and blink about you2 you feel a spot on your face1 on your hand4 ,and then the gracious rain comes1 gathering its forces--steady1 close1 abundant4 ,lean out of window1 and watch1 and listen4 ,how delicious6 ,the gradually-browning beds2 the verandah beneath losing its scattered spots in a sheet of luminous wet2 and1 never pausing1 the close1 heavy1 soft-rushing noise2 the patter from the eaves1 the 8,two-fold sound1 ,the clash hard by1 and the murmur all round40 ,the crisp drenching rustle from the dry foliage of the perceptibly grateful trees1 broad pavilions for ever-chirping birds2 the little plants1 in speechless ecstasy1 receiving cupful after cupful into the outspread leaves1 that silently empty their gracious load1 time after time1 into the still expecting roots1 and open their hands still for more4 ,you can hardly leave the window4 ,you come again at night2 you have heard that ceaseless pour on the roof1 on the skylight1 and the loud clashing under the eaves1 in the silence1 as you went up late to bed4 ,you open the window and let the mild cool air in1 and look through the darkness1 and listen1 for you cannot see4 ,on the vine-leaves about the casement is the steady 8,sound of falling rain2 ,a bird1 awakened in its nest1 ,gives a faint twitter of unrest1 ,then smooths its plumes1 and sleeps again40 ,your light shines out into the deep dark1 and touches the trees just about the house1 and gives a dull gleam to some portion of the streaming lines4 ,unwillingly you shut the window1 and hear still1 as you kneel and there is silence1 the rushing undertone4 ,or1 if a cool breeze arise1 sudden bursts of rattling drops come impetuously against the panes1 with intervals of dreamy rustling1 or in quick succession4 ,you like to hear that sound as you lie in bed1 for you think of the bedding plants that you have just put out1 or of the burnt patches in the lawn1 or of the turnip and onion seed2 or1 with a larger sympathy1 you think of the great thirsty fields of corn1 yellowing for want of rain2 of the mill-stream1 so long shallow and inadequate2 of the wells in the cottage-gardens about you1 and their turbid or exhausted condition4 ,you look forward1 ere you lose consciousness1 to how next day all vegetation will have advanced and appear refreshed4 ,and next morning you look out from your window1 as you dress1 with a deep sense of luxurious enjoyment4 ,the rain has continued steadily all night1 until six in the morning4 ,but it has ceased now1 though the warm tender gloom still continues1 and only just veils the bright sun1 which now and then breaks through it4 ,as you contemplate the scene from the open window1 the refreshed look of the rich brown road1 that was so white and dusty1 makes you long to sally forth upon it4 ,tearful puddles smile here and there on the walks2 the drenched grass twinkles and sparkles1 and reminds you of that exquisite description of 8the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain40 ,and1 breakfast over1 you walk out1 through the garden gate1 a little way into the road4 ,there is a peculiar1 as it were1 growing warmth in the air4 ,everything seems to have attained a week's growth in the one night4 ,you remark the vivid gold-green patches in the hedges4 ,the lime-trees--indeed1 all the trees--make a most effective background with their black wet stems and branches for the radiant emeralds that have burst their pink caskets all over them4 ,the corn-blades1 the hedge-banks1 the drooping boughs1 have all a drenched1 tearfully-grateful look4 ,you pass1 well pleased1 back into the garden again4 ,how well the peas show in the dark mould1 and how much taller are they than they were yesterday6 ,the dull green of the potatoes1 that appeared but here and there last time you looked1 seems now to cover the beds4 ,the little crumpled flowers of the currant and gooseberry bushes have developed all over them into many blossom-laden strings4 ,in the flower-beds the annuals appear above the round sanded patches2 and of the bedding plants1 no geranium1 heliotrope1 or verbena droops a leaf4 ,you go back into the house refreshed by the beauty of the rain1 as much as vegetation has been by the rain itself4 ,the worst of such a day is1 that it makes you feel idle1 indisposed to settle down to work1 inclined from time to time to saunter out and watch nature chewing the cud of its late refreshment4 ,but this is only one example of the deliciousness of rain--one1 you will say1 picked1 selected1 exceptional4 ,there are many other times at which it is beautiful4 ,it is beautiful when it comes hurried and passionate1 fleeing from the storm wind1 hurled1 like a volley of small musketry1 against your streaming panes2 and the few tarnished gold leaves of the beech-trees are struck down one after one by the bullets4 ,it is beautiful in the ,midsummer1 when it comes in light1 soft showers1 or1 more in earnest1 accompanied with thunder-music1 straight and heavy2 when1 as the poet says-- 8,rolling as in sleep1 ,low thunders bring the mellow rain40 ,it is beautiful when it rains far away in the distance1 the bright sun shining on the mound on which you stand1 and only a few guerilla drops heralding the approach of the shower towards you4 ,it is beautiful among leafless trees1 in early ,spring or late ,autumn1 under an avenue1 or in a copse1 when every long bough and black branch is glittering1 strung with trembling diamonds2 when1 the force of the wind and rain being kept from you by the trees and underwood1 the gentle sadness and quiet melancholy of the scene can be gathered into your heart4 ,it is beautiful in a town1 when you stand at the window1 and watch the emptying streets2 the gutters pour by in a yellow1 twisted flood2 the street becomes a river1 and1 as the sudden gust drives them before it1 8,skirmishing drops ,rush with bright bayonets across the road40 ,the window is lined with rows of brilliants1 that gradually grow bigger and bigger1 and waver and fall1 ever supplied by a constant succession of new comers1 like the ,scotch at ,flodden1 8,each stepping where his comrade stood ,the instant that he fell40 ,and1 since ,i have mostly spoken of the beauty of rain in the country1 ,i will quote a description of its beauty in ,london3-- 8,a slight1 quick1 fervid shower--tears more of happiness brimming over than anger breaking its bounds--had just fallen1 and pricked the dry grey pavement into a dark lace pattern of spots1 out of which you could select the newest by their being sharper in outline and darker than the rest4 ,the aristocracy of five minutes ago1 and the parvenues of the last moment1 alike1 as the soft warm rain fell now quicker and more petulantly passionate1 melting one into the other1 losing shape1 place1 and purpose1 as the stone washed luminous brown1 and transparent as slabs of ,cairngorm agate40 ,londoners caught in a shower will surely thank me for this extract1 and recall the description while they admire the process4 99 99 99 99 99 ,but if some people1 notwithstanding my special pleading1 still agree with ,coleridge's address to the rain1-- 8,oh1 rain1 that ,i lie listening to ,you're but a doleful sound at best10 and echo his decision1-- 8,and1 by the by1 'tis understood1 ,you're not so pleasant as you're good0 for these ,i have yet a word4 ,if we cannot enjoy1 let us accept rain at any rate without grumbling2 ay1 even though it last day after day2 ay1 though it spoil our pleasure-plans1 or our crops--remembering at ,whose ordering it comes4 ,people who grumble at the weather always remind me of the ,israelites grumbling at ,moses and ,aaron1 the mere instruments used by the ,supreme4 8,what are we8 ,your murmurings are not against us1 but against the ,lord40 ,from whence comes the shower that stops our pleasure-party2 the drenching rain that falls1 just when the hay or the corn was fit to carry8 ,if such events move our ill-temper1 or make us irritable and angry 7and many are apt to be so71 with whom is it that we are vexed8 who has aggrieved us so that we speak as injured persons8 ,let us have a care4 ,what is that 8it0 that we speak of as being 8tiresome10 8annoying08 ,the clouds1 the winds1 the rain--what are these1 that we murmur against them8 ,are not such murmurings really against the ,sender1 if we trace them home8 ,such a result is commonly born of thoughtlessness more than of purpose4 ,but that will not excuse it4 8,evil is wrought by want of thought1 ,as well as want of heart40 ,but evil it still is1 and must remain4 ,therefore grumbling at the weather appears to me to be something more than foolish and ungrateful4 ,a little thought on the matter seems to mark it as impious and profane4 ,a heathen philosopher would have despised the silliness of losing the balance of your temper1 when there is no one that you dare blame for the cause4 ,a ,christian ought surely to soar beyond this1 and1 in things little or large1 to accustom himself to recognise a ,father's ordering1 and cheerfully to accept it1 as sure to be the best and wisest4 ,i said a heathen might despise the folly of those who lose their temper because it rains4 ,a beautiful anecdote occurs to me1 which ,i met with in a very pleasant book1 8,domestic ,life in ,palestine10 by ,mary ,eliza ,rogers4 ,this lady and her party were traversing1 under the conduct of their guide1 the fertile plains west of the ,carmel range4 8,rain began to fall in torrents2 ,mohammed1 our groom1 threw a large ,arab cloak over me1 saying1 #8,may ,allah preserve you1 ,o lady6 while ,he is blessing the fields6' ,thus pleasantly reminded1 ,i could no longer feel sorry to see the pouring rain1 but rode on rejoicing1 for the sake of the sweet ,spring flowers and the broad fields of wheat and barley40 ,illustration ,can you fancy a more exquisite instance of the 8art of putting things08 ,can you not imagine yourself positively enjoying the wetting1 even though no whit alive to the beauty of rain1 as rain8 ,so much depends on the manner in which a thing is put before you2 so much depends on the lead which is given to your way of looking at it4 ,had a grumbling ,christian been beside the lady instead of the at least pious-languaged ,moslem1 to mutter1 and repine1 and reiterate1 8,how very unfortunate0 7whatever this word may mean7 8we are60 would not a gloom and dulness obscure the memory of that ride1 in her mind8 ,whereas the beautiful thought of the ,arab1 as it made the idea of the rain pleasant and lovely at the time1 so it dwells with a rainbow brightness on all after-memories of that cloud4 ,but enough has been said as to the beauty of rain4 ,it seems1 after all1 that much depends on our way of looking at the thing4 ,if we regard rather the inconveniences that will sometimes attend it1 we shall probably not even think of looking for the beauty that ,i have endeavoured to describe4 ,but if our way is to look rather for what is pleasant than for what is disagreeable1 in the common events of life2 if we love nature in all her moods1 and watch1 with a lover's eye1 each sweet change in her face2 especially if we regard ,god's works as the language of ,god's thoughts1 and consider nothing as the offspring of chance1 but all things as consequent on ,his ordering1 who sees the sparrows fall1 and by whom the very hairs of the head are all numbered--if this be our manner of regarding those dispensations which are above our control1 ,i dare affirm that in nothing that the ,great ,maker expresses1 shall we miss finding1 not only use1 but beauty4 ,and if ,i have suggested to some minds any thoughts that may hereafter lead them to share my love for the beautiful rain1 ,i rejoice that ,i have been to them the exponent of a beauty that they have missed hitherto2 and ,i shall receive their gratitude when the soft showers come that water the earth4 ,and if my meditations be read1 unhappily for them1 not during a dearth1 but during a glut of rain1 my pleasant labour will not have been in vain1 if1 though failing to make many admirers1 ,i yet quiet some fretfulness1 and correct some thoughtless repining4 ,some rain1 as well as some days1 must be dark and dreary4 ,but1 after all1 it rather receives its tinge of pleasantness or gloom from the colour of our own mind at the time1 than itself influences our thoughts4 ,let there be within us the clear shining of a contented mind1 and the darkest clouds will never want for a rainbow4 ,yea1 such a mind1 predisposed to enjoy and admire all that the ,creator sends1 will need no mediation of an interpreter to bid it discern and gather in for itself the exceeding beauty of rain4 ,illustration ,,autumn ,,days4 ,illustration ,entering upon the last week of ,august1 ,i may call the year still ,summer1--yes1 still ,summer1 but the ,autumn days are drawing near4 8,september0--directly ,i pen that word in the right-hand corner of my letters1 a great gap seems to have opened between the ,summer and me4 ,autumn days are here3 the gladness and glee of the year have gone1 and a tender sweet sadness and mellow lucid gloom seem to have gathered over the still calm expecting landscape4 ,the corn is all cut and carried1 the pale stubble fields1 edged with the deep green hedges1 lie a little blankly on the hill-side or in the valley2 the brighter ,summer-shoots of the elms and the apple-trees have all sobered down now into uniform darkness2 the little blue harebells tremble in clusters on the dried sunny hedge-banks2 the gossamers twinkle on the grass1 late into the morning1 with a thick dew that has not yet quite made up its mind to be frost4 ,the partridges whirr up from under your feet as you throw your leg over that stile2 the rooks wheel home much earlier to bed4 ,the fungus tribe begins to look up1 and after a shower you come suddenly1 as you cross the meadow1 upon a cluster of buff-white mushrooms1 with the delicious rose-grey under their eaves1 and gathering them for the wife at home1 you wander here and there to catch the white gleam among the grass1 and are pleased1 when successful1 as a child with his first ,spring daisies4 ,quiet1 tenderly-sad ,autumn days1 after the harvest is gathered in and the plums are picked6 ,illustration 8,autumn6 ,forth from glowing orchards stepped he gaily1 in a gown ,of warm russet1 freaked with gold1 and with a visage sunny brown2 ,and he laughed for very joy1 and he danced from too much pleasure1 ,and he sang old songs of harvest1 and he quaffed a mighty measure4 ,but above this wild delight an overmastering graveness rose1 ,and the fields and trees seemed thoughtful in their absolute repose2 ,and ,i saw the woods consuming in a many-coloured death-- ,streaks of yellow flame1 down-deepening through the green that lingereth2 ,sanguine flushes1 like a sunset1 and austerely-shadowing brown4 ,and ,i heard within the silence the nuts sharply rattling down2 ,and ,i saw the long dark hedges all alight with scarlet fire1 ,where the berries1 pulpy-ripe1 had spread their bird-feasts on the briar40 ,we have here1 save for some little flaws1 a perfect painting of the intensely still1 calm1 expecting attitude of nature1 the absolute repose of the year1 which rests by its work done1 and asks1 in a quiet peace1 in a deep trust1 of the ,all-wise and the ,all-loving1 8,what next80 8,calm is the morn without a sound1 ,calm as to suit a calmer grief1 ,and only through the faded leaf1 ,the chestnut pattering to the ground40 ,autumn days6 ,i think they would be very sad indeed if we could only see decay in them1 and if ,god had not put a little safe bud and germ of hope into every bulb and upon every branch--a promise of future life amid universal death3 just as ,he put that green promise-bud into the heart of ,adam and ,eve1 when such a dreadful death had gathered about the present and the future for them--declaring1 to their seemingly victorious foe1 of the woman's seed1 that 8,it shall bruise thy head40 ,a tiny dear little germ of a bud1 and oh1 how many hundred ,summers and ,winters passed before it developed into the glorious perfect flower6 ,and so now there is yet a sadness1 but only a cheery1 gentle1 tender sadness1 about ,autumn days to the heart that is waiting for ,god4 ,and it seems to me wonderful that ,he should have given us one of ,his own minstrels to sit on the twigs as they grow bare and lonely-looking1 and to express to us just the feeling that ,autumn calls up within the heart1 and that we yearn to have set to music for us4 ,the little ,robin waits his time2 he does not cease1 indeed1 to trill his note in ,spring1 although we do not notice him then amid our blackbirds and thrushes and blackcaps and nightingales2 for he is very humble-hearted1 and content to be set aside when we can do without him4 ,but ,autumn days come1 and the nightingale has fled1 and the blackcap is far away1 and the lark and the thrush and the blackbird are silent2--then the robin draws near4 ,close to our houses he comes1 with his cheery warm breast1 and kind bright eye1 and his message from ,god4 ,and then he interprets the ,autumn to us1 in those broken1 tenderly-glad thrills of song1 that1 simple though they be1 can sometimes disturb the heart with beauty that it cannot fathom1 but that agitates and shakes it even to the sudden brimming of the eyes with tears4 8,yes1 it is sad10 he says1 8to see the flowers dying1 and the leaves falling1 and the harvest over4 ,it is sad--not a little sad--still1 cheer up1 cheer up2 have a good heart4 ,god has told me1 and my little warm heart knows1 that it is not all sad4 ,i know it is not4 ,i can't tell why4 ,but it can't be all sad2 for ,god sent me to sing in the ,autumn days4 ,he taught me my song1 and ,i know that there is a great deal in it about peace and joy4 ,and it must be right2 for though my nest is choked up1 and my little ones are flown1 and my mate has left me1 ,i can't help singing it4 ,cheer up4 ,it is sad1 but not all sad4 ,peace and joy--joy and peace40 8,the morning mist is cleared away1 ,yet still the face of heaven is grey1 ,nor yet th' autumnal breeze has stirred the grove1 ,faded1 yet full1 a paler green ,skirts soberly the tranquil scene1 ,the red-breast warbles round this leafy cove4 8,sweet messenger of #8calm decay1' ,saluting sorrow as you may1 ,as one still bent to find or make the best1 ,in thee and in this quiet mead1 ,the lesson of sweet peace ,i read1 ,rather in all to be resigned than blest4 8,oh cheerful1 tender strain6 the heart ,that duly bears with you its part1 ,singing so thankful to the dreary blast1 ,though gone and spent its joyous prime1 ,and on the world's ,autumnal time1 ',mid withered hues and sere1 its lot be cast1 8,that is the heart for watchman true1 ,waiting to see what ,god will do40 99 99 99 99 99 ,let us walk out into the garden4 ,i love an ,autumn garden1 and ,i think that at any season of the year a garden is a book in which we may read a great deal about ,god4 ,on the ,sunday evenings1 therefore1 ,i like to sit there1 under a tree may be1 with some peaceful heavenly book1 sometimes to read1 and sometimes to close over my thumb1 and keep just as company while ,i meditate2 and ,god's works seem an apt comment on ,god's ,word1 which ,i have heard or read that day4 ,illustration ,but now we will go in the early morning before breakfast-- 8,to bathe our brain from drowsy night ,in the sharp air and golden light4 ,the dew1 like frost1 is on the pane1 ,the year begins1 though fair1 to wane3 ,there is a fragrance in its breath1 ,which is not of the flowers1 but death40 ,and we pass out of the window that opens into the garden under the tulip-tree standing so tall and still1 with pale green and now yellow-touched leaves1 that harmonise well with the pale sky against which you see them4 ,the beech in the shrubbery has begun to 8gather brown02 the tall dark elms that shut it in remind you vividly of the poet's description of 8,autumn laying here and there ,a fiery finger on the leaves40 ,against the thick box-trees underneath you love to see 8,the sunflower1 shining fair1 ,ray round with flames her disc of seed10 and some tall hollyhocks1 still keeping up a brave cheer of rose-coloured and primrose and black blossoms upon their highest spike4 ,the grass is glistening with heavy dew1 sapphire1 rose-diamond1 pure brilliant1 and yellow-diamond2--move a little1 and one drop changes from one to the other of these4 ,walking across the lawn towards that rose-bed1 you leave distinct green foot-prints upon the hoary grass4 ,perhaps the feeling that at last almost weighs upon you1 and depresses you1 is the intense1 waiting stillness of everything4 ,that apple-tree1 bending down to the lawn with rosy apples1 it seems so perfectly still and resting1 that it quite makes you start to hear one of its red apples drop upon the path4 ,the hurry and bustle and eager growth of the year has all gone by3 these roses1 that used to send out crowding bud after bud2--for some weeks a pause1 a waiting1 has come over them4 ,this one purely white blossom1 you watched it developing1 unfolding so slowly1 that it never seemed to change1 taking a week for what would have taken no more than half a summer day1 until at last it had opened fully1 and hung down its head towards the brown damp mould4 ,and there it seemed to stop4 ,it seems not to have changed now for a week or two--why should it hurry to fade8--there were no more to come after it should go4 ,now half of it has detached itself1 and lies in a little unbroken snowy heap on the ground4 ,how quietly it must have fallen there6 ,and the other half still stays on the tree1 and leans down1 and watches with a strange calm over the fallen white heaped petals1 8,innumerably frost impearled40 ,something of depression comes over you1 ,i say1 and there happens to be no cheery robin just now to put in a word1 nor sedate rook sailing with still wings overhead across the pale sky1 to give you even the poorer encouragement of his mere stoic caw4 ,why are you depressed8 ,what is this strange sadness that seems to you to lurk under the exquisite calm and beautiful stillness of the ,autumn morning8 ,do you hardly know8 ,i will tell you4 ,that quiet is the quiet of ,death coming on2 that calm waiting and expectancy is the herald of its approach1 the beauty is the hectic flush of the consumptive cheek4 ,death is sad for ,life to contemplate2 and we are so much akin to all this decay1 that this quiet tells us of it almost more than the heavy bell that now and then stirs the air of the ,summer morning4 ,the coming death of the ,summer leaves and the ,summer flowers preaches to us a solemn sermon of our own death drawing near4 ,watch that leaf circling down from that silent tree1 and listen to the echo in your own heart3 8,we all do fade as a leaf40 ,yes1 death1 the sense of advancing death1 is at the root of your sadness and depression4 ,death in its beauty1 in a tender loveliness--death1 the angel1 not the skeleton1 yet still ,,death4 ,and1 8,whatever crazy sorrow saith1 ,no life that breathes with human breath ,has ever truly longed for death4 8',tis ,,life1 whereof our nerves are scant1 ,oh life1 not death1 for which we pant1 ,more life1 and fuller1 that ,i want40 ,and a great warrior1 of long ago1 one who had less cause than most to fear death1 yet said3 8,we that are in this tabernacle do groan1 being burdened2 not for that we would be unclothed1 but clothed upon1 that mortality might be swallowed up of life40 ,well1 this sadness must remain in some measure2 the flowers must die1 and the leaves must fall1 and the robin's attempts to cheer us bring the tears very near our eyes4 8,sin entered into the world1 and death by sin03 and the child of such a parent cannot bring joy as his attendant4 ,still1 let us go on with our garden walk1 and see whether1 even in the face of nature1 there be nothing else but only this peaceful waiting sadness4 ,take these branches of the ,lilac bushes1 that we remember bending under their scented masses in the warm early ,summer days4 ,bare and damp1 bare of flowers1 and only clad with sickly yellow leaves2 but what else can we see in them8 ,there is not one 7examine them well7 which has not already a full green bud of promise1 developed even before the leaves1 the old leaves1 have fallen away4 ,look on the ground in the shrubberies4 ,what are these little green points that begin just to break the mould8 ,ah1 they are indeed the myriad white constellations of snowdrops already beginning to dawn1 and the frail flower will sleep warm and safe in the bulb1 under the patchwork counterpane of gold beech leaves1 and bronze-purple pear-leaves1 and silver-white poplar1 and come out among the first to tell you that nature is not dead1 but sleepeth4 ,look farther1 on to the flower borders1 at the base of the tall gaunt stalks of the once stately ,queen of flowers4 ,lo1 there already 8,green above the ground appear ,the lilies of another year40 ,not all sad1 then2 no1 not all sad6 ,memory droops indeed with dewy eyes1 but the baby1 ,hope1 is laughing on her lap4 ,there is a resurrection for the flowers and the trees2 true1 this of itself could not assure us that there is one for man4 ,but ,god has told us in the ,book of ,his ,word1 the meaning of what we read in the ,book of ,his ,works4 ,and we know now what the robin meant1 in his small song without words1 and we know what the promise of ,spring means1 hidden in each ,autumn twig2 and indeed1 the garden and the field1 and every hedgerow1 and every grass1 gather now into a great chorus that take up an ,apostle's words1 8,this corruptible must put on incorruption1 and this mortal must put on immortality4 ,o death1 where is thy sting8 ,o grave1 where is thy victory80 ,but it is now nearly half-past eight o'clock1 and the family will be assembling for prayer4 ,let us pass round this walk1 with hearts cheerful1 or only tinged with a shade rather of quiet than of gloom-- 8,and then return1 by walls of peach1 ,and pear-trees bending to our reach1 ,and rose-beds with the roses gone1 ,to bright-laid breakfast40 ,autumn days4 ,such thoughts as these may interpret to us the strange oppressive sadness that comes over us1 as we watch them stealing on2 also1 why it is that this is such a tender1 sweet sadness1 and not a dark1 deadly gloom--the shade of a solemn grove1 not the blackness of a vault4 ,death is indeed a valley of shadow still4 ,but the rays of the ,sun of ,righteousness have penetrated even there--and the hideous darkness is softened to a tender twilight hush4 ,oh1 8,thanks be to ,god1 which giveth us the victory through our ,lord ,jesus ,christ40 ,and now the ,autumn days are very calm and restful to think upon1 and there is a deep peace in the ,autumn of life1 for which we are well content to exchange the flush and glee of ,spring1 and the glory and glow of ,summer4 ,our snowdrops and our primroses are all over1 our lilac and laburnum1 roses and lilies1 all died long ago2 even the fruit is plucked1 except for the gleam of a stray red apple that burns upon the nearly leafless bough2 and the corn is all carried1 and we are wandering over life's once waving fields1 collecting just the last gleanings for our ,master4 ,our larks are silent in the fallows1 our thrushes and blackbirds voiceless in the groves2 the rich flood of the nightingale's thrilling song has long been lost to our hearts4 ,the withered leaves sail down about us1 the mists sleep on the hills1 the dew lies thick in the valleys4 ,but we are very happy and peaceful2 even here there is a stray flower or two1 and the ,autumn crocus droops on the garden beds2 and the berries are bright in the hedges1 under the feathery tufts of the 8traveller's joy40 ,and our heart is well satisfied with the robin's song of trust and content1 that has taken the place of--if richer and fuller--yet less spiritual and more distracting strains4 ,there is an intense waiting calm2 but1 oh1 such thoughts of ,life6--life everlasting1 life indeed--push their way through the yet unfallen leaves of this frail existence1 and that small cheery melody is1 we well know1 the prelude to the full symphonies that shall burst from ,angel choirs4 ,how beautiful a time1 thus thought of1 is life's ,autumn time6 ,i love to read of such a calm season in the life of a good man--a calm only broken by flashes of exultation1 that come1 like the aurora borealis1 into the twilight sky4 ,there is a sadness1 no doubt--there must be--in the coming shade of death which deepens on the path4 ,but the bud of life in the very heart of death2 of this we are more and more conscious1 the closer we draw near to the withered branches4 ,and1 like the fabled scent of the ,spice ,islands1 even over the darkening seas are wafted to us sweet odours from the ,promised ,land4 99 99 99 99 99 ,autumn days--when the flowers are over1 and the harvest well-nigh gathered in1 and the flush and the eagerness very far behind1 and the strength and the vigour things also of the past3--,i think they are sweet days to which to look forward amid life's hurry and bustle1 its excitement of laughter and tears4 ,a very peaceful land1 a land of ,beulah1 where repose seems to reign1 and all seems 8only waiting40 ,no more wild dreams1 it is true1 of what life is going to be1 but then no sad wakings1 and1 lo1 it was a dream6 ,no more quick blood coursing in the veins1 no more excess of animal life making stillness impossible and silence torture2 no more young devotion and quick enthusiasm1 warming the heart even to tinder1 ready to flare at the first spark of friendship or love4 ,no more glow of poetry cast about every face1 and every daisy1 and every sky1 and every scene of every act of the coming years4 ,no more expectation of becoming a great poet1 a mighty warrior1 an evangeliser of the world4 ,and then no vigour to act1 as when life went on2 no leading the front of the battle1 striking strong strokes for the right2 no rejoicing in the strength that has now come1 and that is still1 still in its prime4 ,illustration ,all that1 and more1 has passed away from life's ,autumn days4 ,it was1 perhaps1 rather sad to feel these things departing2 to notice growth first come to a standstill--and then1 here and there the streak of ,autumn1 and the first yellow leaves stealing down4 ,to find the years so short1 instead of so long2 to lose the wonder and the thrill at the first snowdrop1 the first cowslip2 the first nest low in the bushes with five blue eggs2 the first excursion round the park wall for violets1 or into the wood for nuts4 ,to lose the glow of early love1 the despair of early disappointment1 the vigour of early intention and action2 and to mellow down into a half-light1 undisturbed by any of those violent lights and shadows4 ,it was1 ,i say1 perhaps rather sad to feel these things departing4 ,but now they have gone1 and the ,autumn days have come1 and the heart has settled down to this state of things1 and is content that it should be so4 ,it is better1 far better1 the old man sees1 to be in the ,autumn of life1 though he yet thinks tenderly1 lovingly1 of those young days in the impetuous1 over-blossomed ,spring4 ,the 8visionary gleam0 has left his sky4 ,but a truer1 if a quieter lustre has arisen in it and abides4 8,there hath passed a glory from the earth40 ,but the glory has been transferred to ,heaven4 ,it was sad1 at first1 when the glamour1 and the magic1 and the glow1 passed away from this world1 which1 to youth's heart seemed so exceedingly1 inexpressibly glorious and fair4 ,but it is better so4 ,a mirage gave1 indeed1 a certain sweet mysterious light to life's horizon1 and he could not but feel dashed at first to find little but bare sand where the unreal brightness had been4 ,but he journeyed on1 learning1 somewhat sadly1 in manhood1 ,god's loving lesson1 that we are strangers and pilgrims upon earth1 that we have no continuing city here1 not love1 nor fame1 nor wealth1 nor power2 none of these could1 even had we attained it1 prove a ,city of ,rest3 we must still journey on before we can sit down satisfied4 ,and ,god's true servant1 in his ,autumn days1 has learned not to miss nor to mourn over youth's mirage4 ,nay1 his future has 8no need of the sun1 neither of the moon1 to shine in it4 ,for the glory of ,god doth lighten it1 and the ,lamb is the light thereof40 ,he looks at the sky1 which is certainly darkening1 because life's one-day sun is going down4 ,but1 the lower it sinks1 the less he laments it1 for he finds that it did indeed hide from him the vast tracts of ,infinity1 and close him in1 by its light1 in a small low-ceiled room4 ,oh quiet days of peace and reverence and mild serenity2 the rocking waves of the passions asleep about the tossed heart1 and the glittering thoughts of heaven reflected instead from the calm soul2 and its speechless infinite depths gradually mirroring themselves in the being6 ,happy days1 when life's feverish1 exciting novel is closed1 and we are just reading quietly for an hour in the ,book of peace1 before the time comes for us to go off to bed6 ,happy days2 when ,god ,himself is striking off one by one the fetters and manacles of earth1 and will soon send ,his ,angel to open for us the last iron gate of earth's prison6 ,how thankful we should be1 as we grow into the ,autumn1 for those kind words which assure us that life's beginning1 not life's end1 is then really near2 that it is but the bud of immortal youth that is pushing off those withered leaves of mortality2 for those who have given the year of their life to ,god2 or1 at least 7such is ,his mercy in ,christ ,jesus71 the earnest gleaning of its late months4 ,for else1 how sad to watch the sun setting1 the only sun we know of1 and to hope for no long day beyond4 ,think of what a wise heathen said of old age4 ,cicero wrote a treatise1 a wonderfully beautiful treatise1 in praise of it4 ,but all this was but playing with his own sadness1 in his old age2 pleading the cause of a client1 in whose cause he did not believe4 ,for1 after all1 he writes his real thought to his friend ,atticus4 8,old age10 he says1 8has embittered me--my life is spent40 ,sad1 yet true from his point of view4 ,sad--all spent2 and no good hope of a 8treasure in the heavens that faileth not40 ,how even one of the little ones in our village schools could have cheered up sad ,cicero6 ,now see what ,christianity can do1 and has done4 ,think of waiting ,simeon3 8,lord1 now lettest ,thou ,thy servant depart in peace1 ,according to ,thy word3 ,for mine eyes have seen ,thy salvation40 ,hear aged ,paul1 the great champion ,apostle1 leaning now on his sword1 and exhorting the younger warriors who are leading on that war1 that he soon must leave4 ,what peace1 nay1 what exultation1 flashes through his waiting6 ,and a picture arises before us of another aged1 very aged man1 ending the ,bible and his life with the solemn rapturous words of glowing expectation-- 8,he which testifieth these things saith1 ,surely ,i come quickly4 ,amen4 ,even so1 come1 ,lord ,jesus60 ,there is another aspect of ,autumn days1 dreary and sad as they apply to the worldling4 ,but to the obedient faithful child of ,god1 their sadness1 we have seen1 is gentle1 peaceful sadness1 a tender hush more than counterbalanced by the promise of we know not yet1 what exceeding ecstasy and glow of life1 while we speak of it as the life everlasting4 ,aye1 8,the grass withereth1 the flower fadeth10 and there must be a hush over ,autumn days1 because death must be sad1 even when it is beautiful4 ,but how sweet and glorious1 amid the fall and decay of the loveliness and beauty around us1 to be able to rest our heart quietly upon a land beyond earth's horizon2 and to look forward brightly and happily across these changes1 8to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled1 and that fadeth not away40 ,illustration ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,sea-,,shore4 ,illustration 8,mourn on1 mourn on1 ,o solitary sea ,i love to hear thy moan1 ,the world's mixed cries attuned to melody ,in thy undying tone4 ,lo1 on the yielding sand ,i lie alone1 ,and the white cliffs around me draw their screen1 ,and part me from the world4 ,let me disown ,for one short hour its pleasure and its spleen1 ,and wrapt in dreamy thought1 some peaceful moments glean40 ,the tide is coming in2 the waves are big enough to be called waves1 yet they break upon the shelving shore from a perfectly calm sea4 ,and the long ranks rise and fall at my feet1 curving and breaking in endless succession2 line after line sent forth by the stern mandate of ,general ,ocean1 to die each in his turn upon the impregnable rampart of the ,land4 ,ever since the third day of ,creation has this assault been protracted1 now by craft1 now with the thunder of artillery and the violence of the storm2 although it be really so hopeless that the balance of things remains about as it was at the beginning4 ,if the armies of the ,sea have made a breach here1 fresh earthworks have been thrown up in another place by its stubborn antagonist1 and the interminable strife remains equal still4 ,but the solemn ,sea forbids longer trifling2 and its oppressive vastness1 and melancholy murmur1 and mysterious whisper of ever born and ever dying waves1 own1 surely1 some grave meaning4 8,the earnest sea1 ,which strives to gain an utterance on the shore1 ,but ne'er can shape unto the listening hills ,the lore it gathered in its awful age--0 it seems to demand an interpreter4 ,let it be my mood to disentangle some of its utterances4 ,let me employ this hour of thought upon the lonely shore1 in guessing at the meaning of the voice of the long lines which ever bow to the ground before me with eastern salaam1 and then retire1 having delivered their message4 8,the sea approaches1 with its weary heart ,mourning unquietly2 ,an earnest grief1 too tranquil to depart1 ,speaks in that troubled sigh2 ,yet the glad waves sweep onward merrily1 ,for hope from them conceals the warning tone1 ,gaily they rush toward the shore--to die4 ,all their bright spray upon the bare sand thrown1 ,how soon they learn their part in that old ceaseless moan60 ,yes1 this well-worn lesson shall be the first that the waves shall teach us--the vanity and disappointment of human aspirations and early hopes and dreams4 ,see now how glad and gleeful and bright and energetic they come on1 twinkling with a myriad laugh1 line behind line1 eager ridge chasing eager ridge2 all setting towards the cold sullen shore of the unsympathetic earth4 ,oh the clear pure curve1 and the unsullied transparency2 and the glancing crest of feathers and diamonds1 and the rainbow tints as at last the longed-for shore is reached1 and the eager plunge made6 ,oh the dis-illusion1 the broken enchantment1 the check1 the change1 the fall1 when the white glittering spray lies now1 lost and sullied and broken1 upon the defiling earth2 and the wave--amazed1 daunted1 shattered1 quickly changing from over-hope to over-despair--flees back with a wild cry to the great ,sea4 ,another and another and another1 the warning is not taken2 it is true that earth scattered this bright hope1 this strong purpose1 this brave design1 this gleaming ambition2 it is true that the yellow sands have been busy1 ever since the ,fall1 inviting and then defeating the eager waves2 receiving1 marring1 and sucking in the trembling snowy spray1 the rainbow-tinged bubble dreams that the heart lavished upon them2 and changing joyous onsets into moaning retreats4 ,yet who will expect the young heart to believe in the destiny of all its mere earth-dreams1 so long as1 within it1 the tide is coming up8 ,you almost smile1 though with no scorn1 to hear that momentary despairing sigh4 ,for you stand now on a point from which you can see a seemingly exhaustless and endless array of ever-new schemes1 and hopes1 and fancies1 and purposes1 and ambitions and dreams1 line chasing line1 towards that magic disenchanting shore4 ,those behind cry 8,forward60 ,vain for those before to cry 8,back60 ,yea1 themselves soon pick up their broken forces1 and swell the energy and join in the advance of the crested lines that chase one another to the shore4 ,this1 then1 is to me one lesson of the waves coming in4 ,human aspirations and dreams1 advancing gaily in youth1 awhile seeming to make some progress2 but learning at high tide that they have but been conquering unprofitable tracts of barren sand4 ,then yielding ground inch by inch1 losing their grasp of the world and relinquishing the very lust thereof2 and spoiled1 and stained1 and marred1 and with a very heart-moan1 sinking to low ebb as life turns4 ,was not this ,solomon's story8 ,wave after wave dancing to the shore1 curve after curve breaking eagerly upon it1 scheme after scheme1 toil after toil1 pleasure after pleasure1 hope after hope1 ambition after ambition1 dream after dream2 the eye is bewildered and dizzied with the ceaseless motion1 the steady endless advance of the gay and crested waters--8,whatsoever mine eyes desired ,i kept not from them1 ,i withheld not my heart from any joy3 for my heart rejoiced in all my labour40 ,it was gladdening1 exhilarating1 exciting to see the flashing battalions of earthward plans1 and earthward dreams1 pressing each close upon each1 to the inexorable1 impassive line of rocks or sand--what matter that here one shattered with a crash against a cruel blunt crag1 and fled with a scream1 and that another left its light and beauty trembling and sinking into the sand1 while itself slunk back with a hollow sigh2 what matter these single and insignificant experiences of the vanity of things mundane1 while there was yet a whole rising tide of wildly eager waters1 coming in fast1 fast1 exhaustless1 infinite1 flashing and gleaming and dancing in the sun8 ,on1 gaily on1 and what if some die8 ,are there not myriads to follow6 ,why heed the waste1 amid youth's profusion8 ,illustration ,but a pause comes over all the glad onset2 a stagnant time1 a period of neither advance nor retreat3 the tide is at the full4 ,you mark no change for awhile either way3 then at last a space of wet sand begins to border the line of dying spray4 ,broadening and broadening2 but it was quite enough that it had once begun4 ,the tide has turned4 ,here is 8the check1 the change1 the fall40 ,an eager strife1 a wild race1 an impetuous advance1 a profuse and uncalculating spending all youth's energies1 and purposes1 and powers1 and aspirations2 an excited resistless march4 ,and with what result8 ,an unprofitable and transitory conquest of a narrow track of barren sand4 ,oh draw off1 draw off your broken forces1 defeated in that they were victorious2 disappointed by the very fact of attainment2 steal back with that heart-sigh of 8,vanity1 vanity1 vanity3 all is vanity10--back into the deep sea again6 ,leaving1 it is true1 the colour1 and the light1 and the gladness1 and the purity2 the crested spray1 the diamond drops1 the rainbow gleam2 all lying wrecked and sucked in by the hungry shore4 ,leaving the spoils of youth1 yet glad anyhow to get away2 for what can equal the bitterness of that moment when the tide1 long sluggish1 begins at last to turn8 8,then ,i looked on all the works that my hands had wrought1 and on the labour that ,i had laboured to do3 and1 behold1 all was vanity and vexation of spirit1 and there was no profit under the sun40 ,no1--and the bitter thought is1 that not the missing1 but the attaining the prize1 has disappointed2 not failure1 but success1 has embittered3 and that it might have been known from the very first that thus it must be--that the coveted possession was but lifeless rock or bare sand4 ,there was a warning voice to this effect1 but1 oh1 who heard or heeded it in that glorious advance of the long battalions of battling gleaming waters8 ,and1 to add bitterness to the cup1 this was all an old story2 we were not1 as we dreamed1 invading new worlds2 no1 those ancient sands have borne the furrows of myriads upon myriads of just such excited1 eager1 leaping tides4 ,the anguish has not even the pathos of novelty2 it is actually commonplace4 ,that which seemed so new to us1 at what more than millionth hand we received it6 8,the thing that hath been1 it is that which shall be2 and that which is done is that which shall be done3 and there is no new thing under the sun4 8,is there any thing whereof it may be said1 ,see1 this is new8 it hath been already of old time1 which was before us40 ,and so hark to the moan of the waves as they draw off1 when the tide has turned1 and the disenchantment has come1 sigh after sigh1 moan upon moan1 in the weary and desolate retreat4 8,vanity of vanities2 all is vanity40 ,yes2 and farther on1 a more bitter wail1 as it passes back over some spot where some of the gayest morning hopes were spilt3 8,i have seen all the works that are done under the sun2 and1 behold1 all is vanity and vexation of spirit40 ,lower and lower yet1 with yet duller and heavier moan3 8,what hath man of all his labour1 and of the vexation of his heart1 wherein he hath laboured under the sun8 ,for all his days are sorrows1 and his travail grief2 yea1 his heart taketh not rest in the night4 ,this is also vanity40 ,and now an almost fierce and angry cry3 8,therefore ,i hated life2 because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me2 for all is vanity and vexation of spirit40 ,and what then8 ,is this the end of all8 ,is there no hope for the wailing tide2 no redemption for the scattered spray8 ,i have seen what has seemed to me a sweet and touching answer to this question4 ,over the desolate sands a quiet ,mist has been drawn1 while the ,sea moaned far away down at low tide4 ,and ,i seemed thus taught how even earth's wrecks may be repaired1 and earth's ruin turned into gain4 ,better to give to ,god the fresh sparkle and the first eager and joyous onset of life4 ,but if not1 and if the waves must set towards some earth shore1 until they are broken1 sullied1 and wrecked there1 see what the rising mist teaches4 ,let them remember themselves1 and at last come homeward1 leaving the stain and the defilement behind4 ,so merciful is ,god1 that even these ruins and disappointments are all messages of ,his patient love to us4 ,if we will not turn at first to ,him1 ,he will let us break our hearts upon the shore of earth1 content if but at last our hopes and aspirations will rise in a pure repentant mist from their overthrow and ruin1 and wait beside the gate of heaven1 touched now with the clear moonlight of peace1 and expecting the rich sunburst of glory hereafter4 ,the very overthrows and dissatisfactions of earth may thus rise1 spiritualised and purified1 to ,god at last4 ,this1 no doubt1 is the intention of the disappointments and inadequacies of this earth1 upon which the heart1 at the time of the coming in of the tide1 spends so much of its powers1 and against which it bursts and dies down into wild cries and weary sighings4 ,this is the intention--an intention1 alas6 too often unfulfilled4 ,for if ,god is saying1 8,turn1 my children1 from that careless dwelling upon earth's pursuits1 excitements1 and enterprises1 to heavenly aspirations1 letting your heart and mind1 like rising mist from broken waves1 ascend1 instead of dwelling in tears on the bare sands that were never worth the winning--ascend thither1 whither ,he who loved you is gone before1 and continually dwell with ,him1 in the place called ,fair ,havens1 where the waves of this troublesome world have ceased their restless eager quest1 and are lulled into a peace beyond all understanding0--if ,god thus invites us1 even by that sigh of our broken retiring waves1 there is another voice1 commonly heard1 and too often heeded--a voice counselling hardness1 repining1 rebellion3 a moan of sullenness1 of despair1 of defiance--a voice that whispers1 8,curse ,god and die10 rather than1 8,though ,he slay me1 yet will ,i trust in ,him40 ,the voice1 oh let us be assured1 of folly1 not of wisdom2 of our ,enemy1 and not of a friend4 ,illustration ,the waves are still tumbling upon the shore2 with scarce perceptible progress they have advanced really a broad piece since ,i took my station here4 ,ever gathering their forces in long parallels1 ever bending and falling1 and seething back in wide sheets of white foam1 seemingly ever repulsed1 but really ever advancing1 they bring to my mind an idea of great beauty and truth that ,i have somewhere met with1 though where ,i cannot recall4 ,it was a comparison of the earnest humble ,christian's progress in holiness to this coming in of the tide4 ,the healthy ,christian life will always be advancing2 there must ever be a progression in holiness4 ,stagnant water is deteriorating water2 it does not remain the same as when it ceased to flow4 ,and this oft-repeated truth will come sadliest home to the more earnest1 who are therefore the more humble4 ,there ought to be1 there must be an advance1 if the water be a living sea1 and not a stagnant pool4 ,but dare we hope that there is any such progress1 such steady continuous advance in our own ,christian life8 ,alas6 we look sadly back at it and see long lines of earnest endeavours1 at least of passionate yearnings1 after better things1 after perfection1 after the beauty of holiness1 after ,christ-like consistency3 they came in1 and come in still1 bright perhaps1 and intent1 and resolved2 and1 lo6 how they trip and fall as they reach the shore of trial1 and slide back1 losing all the ground again6 ,ever advancing1 only to recede2 ever rising1 but to fall2 ever trying1 yet still baffled2 only able to weep over their own weakness1 and to sigh continually with a depression that men call a morbid pain4 ,new yearnings at every special time of solemn self-examination2 new resolves1 driven on by the breath of prayers2 new endeavours2 and1 after all1 old failures6 ,how the waves come in1 earnest1 but impotent1 each running up the little way on the shore that its predecessor had attained1 and giving ground again1 to be succeeded by another as weak4 99 99 99 99 99 ,but to cheer and encourage us sometimes1 amid all this depressing history of failures1 which may well serve to keep us humble1 there is another analogy with the rising tide besides that of its endless endeavours and endless failings4 ,there is1 as with the waters1 an advance upon the whole1 though they seem to keep at much the same point1 and to be doing little but ceaselessly recede and fail4 ,you might mark1 were you a watching angel1 how this point is reached1 and that passed2 and how1 though 7and better for them here and now7 the sighing waters perceive it not1 each day's expiring and almost despairing1 but still earnest and prayerful efforts1 have increased a little upon the shore to-day1 and deepened and secured yesterday's work4 ,and quiet earnestness seems recommended by this thought3 for have we not seen some impetuous waves come dashing in1 as though to take the shore at one rush8 ,and it is these most commonly which1 meeting steady and sustained resistance1 and feeling the strength which excitement had lent dying out from them2 it is these impatient spirits that then lose heart most deeply1 and sink back the farther1 and sometimes quite fall away with a shrill and bitter cry1 and lose themselves in the ,deep1 too dismayed to return1--rather1 too little really in earnest to face the necessity of the daily1 hourly strife--the inch by inch advance1 the little by little1 the day of small things4 ,if we are humbly in earnest1 and if we are stedfastly1 quietly striving1 with unyielding watch and instant prayer1 and faithful use of every means of grace1 then we may hope1 amid that which seems sometimes scarce anything but a sad history of failures1 that thus there may be yet advance upon the whole4 ,but now ,i remember that there is1 in appearance1 and to the unpractised or uncareful beholder1 little difference between the tide that is advancing and that which is going down4 ,still the endless hurry of flocking waves1 still the appearance of life and purpose1 still the advance and retreat upon the shore--and what is the difference8 ,if there are many1 many broken1 defeated1 and baffled endeavours1 why so there were when the tide was rising4 ,ay1 but there we found advance1--here we find retrogression--upon the whole4 ,alas6 how great is the danger that is subtle and unseen2 and in a spiritual falling back1 it is the very slightness and imperceptibility of the loss of ground that makes the case so perilous4 ,they have given over their watchfulness1 their close observation of marks2 the breath of prayer has fallen to a stillness2 the waves seem to gleam and ripple and rustle as of old1 and how shall the unearnest heart and the unwatchful eye ever know that the tide is going down8--a sinking so gradual1 so stealthy1 with such slight difference from day to day4 ,many noteworthy causes there are of this lamentable failure and decline1 many subtle enemies1 that is to say1 to diligent watchfulness and continual prayer4 8,much trading1 or much toiling for advancement1 or much popularity1 or much intercourse in the usages and engagements of society1 or the giving up of much time to the refinements of a soft life--these1 and many like snares1 steal away the quick powers of the heart1 and leave us estranged from ,god40 8,how awfully do people deceive themselves in this matter6 ,we hear them saying1 #8,it does me no harm to go into the world4 ,i come away1 and can go into my room and pray as usual4' ,oh1 surest sign of a heart half laid asleep6 ,you are not aware of the change1 because it has passed upon you4 ,once1 in days of livelier faith1 you would have wept over the indevoutness of your present prayers1 and joined them to the confession of your other backslidings2 but now your heart is not more earnest than your prayers1 and there is no index to mark the decline4 ,even they that lament the loss of their former earnestness do not half know the real measure of their loss4 ,the growth of a duller feeling has the power of masking itself4 ,little by little it creeps on1 marked by no great changes40 ,and yet you would start1 had you an ,angel's point of view1 to see how wide a strip of former advance is relinquished now4 ,the treacherous sands suck in the wet line1 and it ever seems just before you--just a narrow band such as always edges the advancing and retiring waters1 whether at ebb or flow4 ,and how great does this danger then appear to be6--how deadly the craft of an ,enemy too subtle ever to startle us6--how needful to watch for that retrogression which can hardly be perceived6 ,little by little we advance1 and commonly little by little we decline4 ,even a great fall1 it has been pointed out--one which seemed a sudden catastrophe1 unheralded by any warnings--what a slow gradual process of 8retirement neglected and hurried prayers0 had been long preparing secretly for this4 ,but now a saint1 men think--and on a sudden a notorious sinner6 ,ah1 they know not for how long1 how secretly1 how imperceptibly and undetected1 how surely and how fatally the tide had been going down4 99 99 99 99 99 ,enough of these desultory musings4 ,let us pause awhile in reverent silence1 contemplating the mighty ,sea as a whole1 assuredly of things upon this earth our greatest emblem--an emblem grand1 oppressive in its vastness--of ,eternity and ,infinity4 ,illustration ,,musings ,,on ,,the ,,mountains4 ,illustration ,mountains6 ,i scarcely feel myself competent to fulfil the promise of this title1 for ,i was never upon one in my life6 ,never had ,i the advantage of contemplating the mighty eminences of ,america2 ,i have not even had the experience of standing beneath and toiling up to the summit of the white-haired ,alps2 nay1 even the grand hills of ,scotland1 or the classic watchers beside the ,english lakes1 have never been visited by me4 ,still imagination will often supplement the deficiencies of experience1 and it is a good thing1 ,i am convinced1 for us all1 so far as we can1 to leave sometimes the plain of our daily routine of life1 and to muse upon at least relatively higher ground4 ,i will begin by recalling my nearest approach to any experience of mountain ascent4 ,i was staying in ,herefordshire with my brother1 in his parish among the hills and woods4 ,when a friend is with us1 we seem to think it a necessity1 both for his sake and our own1 to rove somewhat1 and to explore some of the more distant country4 ,accordingly we fell to planning expeditions1 and after divers suggestions1 contemplations1 and rejections1 fixed upon a small village beside a lovely stream renowned for its trout and grayling1 and near a hill famous in those parts1 and named ,croft ,ambrey4 ,we were to sleep two nights at a small inn near the stream1 and from that stream we were to extract our breakfast4 ,there is always a great charm about these expeditions--a novelty1 an independence1 a breaking through the trammels of life's daily routine1 in their enterprising pic-nic character4 ,and so my brother1 his wife and ,i1 started on the appointed morning1 in high glee4 ,we were1 ,i remember1 however1 employed half the day in the vain endeavour to catch the white pony2 and were at one time almost in despair of our getting off at all4 ,the little rogue had been put up to some sly tricks by a horse with whom he had been observed to have been conferring over the fence for some days previously1 and ,i remember the almost comic provocation with which he let us sidle up to him1 with blandishments and barley1 until just within range for the halter1 and then1 at the very moment of attainment1 was off1 and anon standing demure and meek at the other end of the field4 ,nor did we fare better if we altered our tactics1 and1 like wolves over the northern snows1 tried to hem in our prey in a deadly half-circle4 ,he ever contrived to give us the slip1 and it was not until we were wearied out1 and on the point of giving up our expedition for that day1 that he surrendered at discretion4 ,we started1 nevertheless1 wound up again as to our spirits for the excursion1 and thoroughly enjoying a twenty-miles drive through lovely scenery4 ,it was so late1 however1 when we arrived near ,croft ,ambrey1 that we had but time that afternoon for a walk towards it1 and up a lesser hill1 and so back to our quiet little inn1 close to the ,lugg4 ,how one enjoys the meals on these occasions6 ,that broiled ham and eggs1 and home-brewed beer1 in the little sanded room2 what venison and champagne refection could for a moment compare with them8 ,it is the charm of novelty1 ,i suppose1 in scene and room and everything4 ,of course1 it is easy to understand the zest that attends a dish of trout and grayling of your own catching4 ,but to return to ,croft ,ambrey4 ,next day we were prevented by other engagements from fulfilling that with our hill4 ,and1 since we were to start quite early on the morrow1 the chance of my ascending it seemed over when ,i retired to my homely but clean little bedroom at night4 ,however1 ,i had not quite given the thing up4 ,it was in my mind1 could ,i but contrive to wake at five in the morning1 to sally forth1 while great part of the world was asleep1 and explore the peaks1 passes1 and glaciers of that noble hill4 ,i am not good at waking1 unless called4 ,but--and this seems an illustration of how the mind controls the body--it is certain that if you go to sleep with a strong desire or sense of duty concerning the waking at a certain hour1 you not unfrequently1 after a careful fumbling under the pillow1 find your watch demonstrating pretty nearly the time that your mind had appointed4 ,this may be a mere coincidence1 but it is one whose recurrence ,i have often marked4 ,at any rate1 ,i know that next morning ,i awoke1 with a sudden instinct consulted my privy counsellor1 and was by it informed that five o'clock was yet a few minutes distant4 ,and so ,i arose1 and drew the blind1 and looked out upon the still world1 in the sharp cool morning air4 ,the light seemed clear and cold1 and there was an incessant twitter and loud chirping dialogue of many awakened birds4 ,a thin mist was withdrawing from the fields1 and yet lay upon the course of the river4 ,i hastened my dressing1 and quietly slid down stairs4 ,how well most of us know the weird strangeness of the house at the early morning hour1 when all in it are still asleep1 but day is peering in through closed shutters1 and above locked doors6 ,the darkling light2 the breathing hush2 the dog curled on the mat1 rising uneasily1 and surveying matters suspiciously1 but1 reassured1 settling himself down again with a preliminary shake1 when 8,his sagacious eye an inmate owns02 the sullen disturbing sound at the street door1 of bolts and locks1 and bars1 that would have seemed noiseless enough by day4 ,and then the clear sharp feeling of the air1 when you step into the road2 the silent unpeopled worship of nature at its matins' hour2 the shadows1 long as those of evening1 and more grey and pearly1 along the white empty road4 ,and1 enhancing the stillness1 perhaps one lonely traveller met1 seeming the world's only inhabitant2 and1 as you walk farther on into the day1 presently 8,the carter1 and his arch-necked1 sturdy team1 ,following their shadows on the early road40 ,thus1 then1 ,i sallied forth1 and to my mind the details of that morning walk are even more distinct than when ,i trod it4 ,the pause of consideration as to the turning to be taken2 the selection1 as it happened1 of just the right gate2 the belt of pines half-way up the hill1 that from below seemed so near the highest point1 but attained1 showed a great height still to be surmounted--much like all striving upwards here after any excellence1 especially after holiness2 the pleasure when at last the summit was attained2 the little incidents connected with that attainment2 the frail harebell plucked1 and pressed even now in my pocket-book2 the curious war that ,i found and left going on between a hawk and a rook2 each striving to get above the other1 each making and each avoiding the hostile swoop2 all these slight matters are the details which make that day's whole still a distinct sharp picture to my mind4 ,and very full of matter for musing appears to me now that morning expedition4 ,i forget how many counties of ,england and ,wales lay outspread before me2 some six or seven1 ,i think4 ,certainly a mist brooded over them1 and ,i did not see them clearly2 but yet there they were1 and ,i know not but that the half-appearance may have more impressed 7imagination being called in to complete the scene7 than a clear panorama would have done4 ,the world's ordinary sights and sounds lay far beneath me2 the narrow scope of the ordinary view was widened2 for fields1 ,i surveyed counties in my landscape1 and for hedges1 lines of distant hills4 ,all things were wider and larger1 and ,i breathed a more expansive1 freer air2 and ,i seemed1 ,i think1 a little raised above life's pettinesses1 by the quiet and the breadth of view of that early morning ascent4 ,illustration 99 99 99 99 99 ,ah1 friends1--and brothers in both the meannesses and the great expectations of this strange finite1 infinite existence1--how we need1 how we need1 these periodical ascents into ,higher ground6 ,how large life is2 and yet1 how little6 ,how we fret and fume about fields and hedges--merest trifles1 when counties and hills--nay1 continents and seas--nay1 worlds or systems1 and space1 might lie under the ken of our perception and contemplation1 which1 indeed1 has no bounds1 forward1 through eternal time1 and infinite space6 ,how1 in the littleness of things1 are we apt to swamp the largeness which they might present to our thought6 ,how life's pettinesses overmaster the mighty tremendous prospect that ,god has set before us1 looming indeed through a veil of mist1 far below our feet6 ,oh1 how grand1 how stupendous1 how magnificent1 might this our life1 rightly thought of1 become6 ,money1 love1 fame1 power2 it is1 while we stand on the mountain1 the tinkle of a sheep-bell far below us in the valley2 it is the pigmy form1 it is the muffled cry of those things which seemed to us large and of full growth1 when we met them down far below in the bustle and busy intercourse of life4 ,i think of ,martha1 with the ordering of a meal the great matter in her eyes2 ,mary1 indeed at the ,saviour's feet1 but thus seated1 placed1 in good truth1 upon a mountain1 from whose wide range of view all merely of this world seemed petty1 worthless1 mean4 ,oh1 for a mountain view of life6 ,oh1 for an angel's view6 ,then money1 power1 talents1 influence1 all would be noble1 as offerings to ,christ2 contemptible in any other aspect4 ,how ,i crave to take always that standing-point2 to survey life--so far as such as ,i am can--from ,god's point of sight2 to look at time as1 after all1 only a tooth in the great cog-wheel of ,eternity1 as something very small1 that fits into something very large6 ,the littleness of life2 its scandals1 its jealousies1 its irritations1 its safe voyages or its wrecks1 its gains or losses of a fast-flying hour2 its loves and hopes1 its hates and despairs1 its ecstasies and anguishes2 these are the fields and hedges that are perceived no longer1 when we have ascended above this brief and transient state of things1 and look down upon counties1 continents1 worlds4 ,how ,i mourn over life's pettinesses6 ,how ,i grieve1 in my better mountain hours1 to find myself always easily moved and disturbed1 either to enjoyment or vexation1 by the merest and most absolute trifles6 ,how bitter it is to me1 next time ,i get the wider view1 to perceive how easily1 and naturally1 and contemptibly1 ,i descended1 after the last ascent1 down among the thronging1 chafing1 soul-lowering interests and phantasies of this lower world1 this span-long life again6 ,ah1 spark of the ,infinite1 that finite things can so absorb thee6 ,ah1 heir of ,eternity1 that time's dancing motes can affect thee so much6 ,ah1 member of ,christ1 child of ,god and inheritor of the ,kingdom of ,heaven1 that it can much concern thee in what station of life1 in what external condition1 it may please ,him that thou shouldst serve ,him1 here1 and now1 in this minute of space and time6 99 99 99 99 99 ,in life's morning we may all1 ,i think1 be said to stand on the mountain1 and1 although it be a morning view1 made illusive by mist and early sunshine1 obtain the widest1 least petty1 view4 ,more wide1 more noble1 more expansive--all these the scope of youth's sight must be conceded to be4 ,there is not the suspicion1 the narrow thought1 the selfishness1 the intent consideration of the present interest2 there is a broader1 more generous way of contemplating life than we shall find later in its course4 ,doubtless there is the greater proneness to be deceived4 ,the eye is not yet trained to calculate distances2 arduous undertakings are misjudged2 easy attainments are regarded with admiration and awe2 there are many mistakes1 much proof of want of experience4 ,but as life goes on1 and as men descend to gain this knowledge and correctness of estimation1 often the wider view narrows1 the freer air is left behind1 and the eye that roamed over and took in that nobler scope becomes shut in by surrounding trees and hedges into the range of but one small field4 ,could we1 as a few have done1 not barter youth's aspirations and superb ideas for manhood's experience and practical mind1 but add the riches of manhood to the riches of youth1 how much greater a thing we might make this life of ours to be6 ,for certainly in youth we do stand upon an eminence1 and look round upon counties and hills1 and gradually1 as manhood gains upon us1 are apt to descend towards mere gardens1 fields1 and fences4 ,and so the evil to be guarded against--or to be deplored--will be the declension of the mind and heart from this wider1 more open and generous view1 a loss inward1 not outward4 ,mixing1 as we soon must1 among life's pettinesses1 how many of us forget the mountain upon which we once stood1 nor care to ascend it still from time to time1 but are content to sink into hardness1 coldness of heart1 narrow-mindedness1 selfishness1 a cynical1 unsympathetic temper1 a habit of low suspicion1 a littleness of caution1 a close hand1 an absorbed heart4 ,so that we should try1 from time to time1 to draw apart from the highways and byways and crowded walks of life's daily cares and concerns1 and to ascend a point which overlooks them and brings them more into their just proportion with that wider view which diminishes if it does not absorb them4 ,in reading some of the highest poetry ,i have found this ascent gained4 ,it carries you up into the ideal1 from life's mean realities and commonplaces2 there is an atmosphere of honour and love and generosity2 men think and act grandly1 and money-getting is not the mainspring of all4 ,and this is one profit of high and wholesome poetry1 that it does water and keep alive those nobler greater ideas and yearnings that the dust of the world's traffic might otherwise choke4 ,for the heart's true poetic sense 7,i do not mean mere sentimentality7 is no doubt one of the links nearest to ,god in the chain which connects us with ,him4 ,how much of the sublimest poetry we find1 in truth1 in the ,bible4 ,and here ,i would point out especially how we may indeed breathe a mountain air--indeed obtain a mountain view1 namely1 in the sacredly-kept times of morning devotional reading4 ,in a trouble1 whether a small worry or a crushing anguish1 how sweet1 when the time has come round for the reading and meditation on the things of ,eternity and of ,god4 ,how1 as we go on with our upward winding path1 the fret or the agony insensibly takes its place in the wider landscape1 and diminishes by an imperceptible process from the exaggerated size it presented to us when we stood beside it on the plain4 ,other greater objects open upon our view1 and attract our attention2 the far scenery of ,god's mighty workings widens out before us1 and the vast ,ocean of ,eternity stretching round and embracing the little island of ,time2 and we seem to feel a cool air fanning our hot tear-tired eyes1 and we breathe more freely1 and our heart1 despite of itself1 loses somewhat of its weary load4 ,the world is left below2 even the clouds sleep under our feet2 and heaven is nearer1 not only for that hour1 but during the rest of the day4 ,illustration ,and how naturally may this thought of mountain-quiet and distance from earth's noises lead us to the consideration of that most exquisite and precious communion with ,god which we know by the name of ,prayer4 ,in associating the time of prayer with the idea of mountain seclusion1 two pictures rise at once before the mind1 because in them actually a mountain was the scene1 and not only the type1 of earnest and retired prayer4 ,we see first the top of ,carmel1 bare and burnt under the sun of ,palestine1 and overlooking the intensely blue sea4 ,upon it the solitary prophet ,elijah bends to the ground1 prostrate on the earth1 with his face between his knees4 ,a watching form stands on a point towards the sea1 until1 at last1 far away over the water1 in the sultry horizon1 a little dark speck1 like a man's hand1 arises1 and1 on rapid wing1 the delicious cool clouds gather and spread their awning between the burnt earth and the pitiless sun4 ,then the glorious sudden rush of the restoring rain1 steady1 incessant1 abundant1 settling in pools on the caked ground1 streaming down the sides of the orange hills1 sending eddying torrents to brim the parched cracked river-beds4 ,thus impetuous and profuse came the answer to the prophet's lonely mountain prayer4 ,and another dearer picture we never weary of contemplating2 another account of ,one who1 after the day's toil of healing1 of teaching1 of feeding the multitudes1 sends the thronging crowd away1 dismisses even ,his disciples in a ship across the lake1 and then1 when 8,the feast is o'er1 the guests are gone1 ,and over all that upland lone1 ,the breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old10 retires up into a mountain apart to pray1 and continues all night in prayer to ,god4 ,what a lesson6 ,the crush and press dismissed2 even the closest and most intimate companions avoided1 and a quiet time secured for we know not what prayers to the co-equal ,father4 ,ah1 that we more entirely followed ,his example3 how1 if our prayers had more leisure secured for them1 were more strictly protected from intrusion and disturbance1 more lonely--how they would aid us to breathe the air of the mountain1 to keep ever before us its wider view1 even when we had descended to mix again with life's thronging necessities in the plain4 ,even in our room1 when the door is closed upon us 7for ,i am speaking here of private prayer1 not of public worship71--even thus1 we are not necessarily upon the mountain1 speaking through the stars to ,god4 ,the larger crowd may have been satisfied and dismissed1 but we have taken with us into our retirement some few that were more intimate and close to our heart1 and we have not been careful enough to be alone4 ,the preparation of dismissing the multitude1 and even the disciples1 then the ascent of the mountain1 by the winding path of meditation1 and then the unrestricted view1 the sky nearest1 indeed touching us1 and earth spread out far below1 and the soul left to calm1 leisure1 unharassed communion with ,god2 all these are necessary2 all these we learn from the example of that mild yet awful ,being who is ,god manifest in the flesh4 ,let us arm ourselves with the same mind4 ,but my thoughts1 returning to that morning walk which introduced this essay1 remind me that there is one suggestive point in it which deserves a little attention4 ,it is the time of day at which the ascent was made4 ,early prayer1 while the world's cares are asleep1 and the road lies hushed and still1 not thronged with jostling passengers1 nor stunned with noisy vehicles--this is that1 which of all our private devotions1 most aids in consecrating life to ,god4 ,descending from that early hour of high communion1 to take our part in the awakening toil and interest of earth1 it is then easier to give their proper proportion to the events and employments of the day4 ,be it a joy or a sorrow1 be it a loss or a gain1 it takes its just place in the grand scheme of things1 and does not monopolise the heart1 nor obscure the vision2 far less will the mere straws in the path1 or the butterflies that dance by1 catch and retain the absorbed regard of the heirs of immortality4 ,the trifling irritations1 the mean jealousies1 the little rankling grudges1 the petty quarrels1 also the transitory enjoyments and short-lived profits1 of each day's life1 will not greatly1 nor for long1 move the heart that retains its memory of that far-stretching ,morning view4 ,and it will be less difficult to rescue life from its proneness to become ignoble1 and to free ourselves from the narrowing1 stunting1 dwarfing process which it often is1 but which it was never intended to be4 ,yet1 but for these mountain-pauses1 but for these retirements from the over-familiarity and intrusiveness of trifles1 how shall we avoid the danger of habitually1 and soon1 entirely bounding our view and mode of thought by the hedges which shut in our eyes and hearts1 down in the valley of our ordinary employments8 ,and how much the saints of ,god have valued this early hour of prayer6 ,it has been called the ,dew which the later hours have irretrievably dried up2 the ,manna which has vanished when the sun has gained strength4 ,and there is no doubt in my mind that the quality of the spiritual life greatly depends upon the jealous guarding of this priceless hour1 which so easily and quickly escapes us4 ,at that hour ,jordan stands in a heap1 and leaves us a clear passage heavenward1 but the rapid stream of cares1 businesses1 anxieties1 worries1 returns to its strength as the morning appeareth1 and if we would cross at all1 it must be during a distracting and wearisome buffeting with those crowding waters4 ,let me say here how valuable appear to me to be the retreats that are being established in many parts of ,england4 ,who does not know how the routine of little cares1 and small wearing anxieties1 and petty1 yet necessary employments1 are apt to eat out the spirituality from even the clergyman's life1 especially if he be placed in a sphere which presents labour after which he is ever toiling1 but which he can never overtake8 ,they seem to me1 at least1 formed upon the very model of our ,lord's custom1 and at once to commend themselves to any unprejudiced mind1 or even any prejudiced mind that has preserved the power of calm and fair thought4 ,i will let ,cowper continue and conclude this train of musing for me3 8,not that ,i mean to approve1 or would enforce ,a superstitious and monastic course2 ,truth is not local1 ,god alike pervades ,and fills the world of traffic and the shades1 ,and may be feared amid the busiest scenes1 ,or scorned where business never intervenes4 ,but 'tis not easy1 with a mind like ours1 ,conscious of weakness in its noblest powers1 ,and in a world1 where1 other ills apart1 ,the roving eye misleads the careless heart1 ,to limit thought1 by nature prone to stray ,wherever freakish fancy points the way2 ,to bid the pleadings of self-love be still1 ,resign our own1 and seek our ,teacher's will2 ,to spread the page of ,scripture1 and compare ,our conduct with the laws engraven there2 ,to measure all that passes in the breast1 ,faithfully1 fairly1 by that sacred test2 ,to dive into the secret deeps within1 ,to spare no passion and no favourite sin1 ,and search the themes1 important above all1 ,ourselves1 and our recovery from our fall1 --,but leisure1 silence1 and a mind released ,from anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased2 ,how to secure1 in some propitious hour1 ,the point of interest1 or the post of power2 ,a soul serene1 and equally retired ,from objects too much dreaded or desired1 ,safe from the clamours of perverse dispute1-- ,at least are friendly to the great pursuit40 ,to complete the ideal of a mountain1 at least in a picture1 it seems necessary to see a lake lying at its foot4 ,i have such a picture in my mind's eye1 besides that of ,scott's1 8--,on yonder liquid lawn1 ,in hues of bright reflection drawn1 ,distinct the shaggy mountains lie1 ,distinct the rocks1 distinct the sky40 ,illustration3 8,in hues of bright reflection drawn1 distinct the shaggy mountains lie40 ,and a beautiful lesson seems by their association suggested to my mind4 ,for thus ought the mirror of our daily life1 which lies at their foot1 clearly and constantly to reflect the calm and the beauty and the elevation of those mountain-hours4 ,beware of influences1 sudden winds and treacherous currents1 which1 ruffling and wrinkling the lake1 shall mar and blur the image of those high moments1 and of the heaven yet far above the mountains4 ,illustration ,,musings ,,in ,,the ,,twilight4 ,illustration ,but now the quiet days of ,september are come4 ,september1 which is the ,twilight of the year--rather1 ,i would call it the first hint of twilight1 when the flush and glow are sobering down1 and a cast of thoughtfulness is deepening day by day upon the months4 8,autumn has o'erbrimmed the clammy cells0 of the bees2 the fields1 where the long rows of many sheaves stand1 gradually grow bare2 the intensely dark summer green of the elms and of the hedgerows out of which they rise1 is interrupted here and there by a tenderer tinge2 the spruce firs in the copses begin to appear more dark1 distinct1 and particular2 the larches begin to show faint hearts1 and to look more delicate beside their sombre brothers4 ,there is rather the augury1 the prescience1 than the perceived presence of a change4 ,i have fancied sometimes that the trees have plotted together and banded themselves by an agreement not to give in1 this time1 but to defy the utmost power of stripping1 desolating ,winter4 ,and it is curious1 with this idea1 to watch them4 ,throughout ,september1 they at least keep up appearances well1 and from one to another the watchword is whispered1-- 8,keep a good heart1 ,o trees1 and hold ,the ,winter stern at bay60 and for a time they moult no feather1 drop no leaf2 or1 if one circles down here and there1 it is huddled by in a corner1 and they flatter themselves that none has noticed4 ,but you watch with pitying love1 knowing what the end must be4 ,and you perceive how great the effort1 the strain1 becomes1 to keep up appearances4 ,here and there1 at last1 despite of their utmost endeavour1 the hidden fire bursts out2 and finally1 with a wild ,autumnal wail1 some weaker tree1 in despair1 gives up the unnatural and too excessive strain1 and casts down a great profusion of yellow sickly foliage4 ,there is a murmur among the stouter trees2 but1 in good truth1 they are not sorry for the excuse1 while1 muttering that all is rendered useless now1 like avowed bankrupts1 they give up the effort to sustain appearances1 and1 as it were1 with a sigh of relief and rest1 resign them to the fate they vainly strove against and could not long avert4 ,so the elm flames out into bars and patches1 very yellow in the dark2 and the chesnut is all tinged and burnt with brown2 and the mulberry has slipped off all her leaves in a single night2 and the ash and the sycamore blacken2 and the white poplar leaves change to pale gold2 and the pear to bronze2 and the wild cherry to scarlet2 and the maple to orange2 and the bramble at their feet to bright crimson4 ,illustration ,not so yet1 in the ,twilight of the year4 ,it is the month of tranquillity1 of peaceful hush4 ,if there be a hint of decay1 it is but what has been called 8calm decay02 it is but evening with the landscape1 the ,evening of the year4 ,you might forget1 as you looked at the resting stationary aspect of things1 that the further change1 the ,night of ,winter1 was indeed drawing near4 ,there seems no prophecy of those wild tossing ,october arms1 with the stream of leaves hurrying away in the wind2 no presage of the dull ,november days1 when1 from the scanty foliage of the trees1 great drops plash down upon the decaying leaves beneath1 and the whole wood looms out of the fog4 ,far less1 in the full-bosomed1 sober1 rather air- than mist-mellowed woodlands1 do you detect any foretelling of the time when all will stand1 a bare thicket of gaunt boughs and naked twigs1 dully shadowed in the ice1 or made darker and more dreary by the great white fields of snow4 ,of all this there is no hint given yet1 nor need we yet awake to the knowledge that we have indeed bid the ,summer farewell till next year4 ,the evenings are still warm1 warm with that cool warmth which is so delicious3 it will be some time yet before we can see our breath as we talk3 we can stay out well until eight or later1 and hear through the open window the clatter of arranging tea-cups1 and watch the lamp1 still faint in the twilight1 warm the room with a dim orange glow4 ,therefore ,i shall sit here awhile on this garden seat1 and muse in and upon the twilight4 ,the scene and place are favourable for quiet thought4 ,the lawn is smooth and shaven2 at my feet lie beds of profuse geranium1 verbena1 calceolaria1 petunia1 in their rich ,autumn prime1 before any hint of frost has visited them4 ,the air is quite heavy with the scent of the massed heliotrope4 ,the colours1 if sobered1 are not yet lost in the fading light2 the scarlets and purples are hushing and blending2 the cherry colour1 yellow1 and white1 have grown more distinct1 and stand out more apparent upon the grass4 ,overhead1 the sky is deepening to that dusk steel blue which soon discloses the very faint yet eye-catching glimmer of one white star4 ,across the quiet dome1 and between the still1 outstretched1 motionless branches1 the silent bats flit to and fro2 there is a rustle of chafers in the lime4 ,one sweet melancholy monotonous sound gives a background to the silence1 an undertone that enhances1 not in the least disturbs1 the quiet4 ,for the great charm of this garden1 which lies on the slope of a hill1 is1 that near the foot of that hill swells and fails the ever-moving ,sea4 ,and looking from my garden seat through the near rose-bushes and above the taller growth lower down the slope1 ,i see the broad silver shield1 rising1 as it seems to me on my hill-seat1 up the circle of its horizon4 ,an hour ago ,i was admiring the brilliancy and intensity of its colour1 green shoaling into blue1 and sparkling in the sun2 now the faint light of the broad moon shares the sway of the decaying sunlight2 and ,i see above and through the branches a space of pale bright grey4 ,the jewel blue of afternoon has died out from it1 but the more neutral tint accords better1 ,i feel1 with the sober hour and hushed sounds of twilight4 ,how complete is the harmony and the balance of colour in all ,god's pictures6 ,and ,i love these twilight studies1 that are much like the paintings1 so ,robert ,browning tells us1 of ,andrea del ,sarto1 the faultless painter4 ,pictures in which-- 8,a common greyness silvers everything1 ,all in a twilight40 ,this is essentially a twilight poem ,i always think2 silver-grey2 a quiet calmed heart that has settled down into a deep still sadness and disappointment4 ,he longs for those higher aspirations which can here be but imperfectly expressed1 knowing that it is not well unless we hold an ideal far above our fulfilment here2 and that1 if we have attained all we sought in our pursuit of the beautiful and the good1 we have not intended nobly enough3-- 8,there's the bell clinking from the chapel-top2 ,that length of convent wall across the way ,holds the trees safer1 huddled more inside2 ,the last monk leaves the garden2 days decrease ,and ,autumn grows1 ,autumn in everything4 ,eh8 the whole seems to fall into a shape ,as if ,i saw alike my work and self1 ,and all that ,i was born to be and do1 ,a twilight piece40 ,is not the tone of thought here expressed one natural to us all at certain times1 when for us life's vivid lights and deep shadows have all toned into a uniform half tint8 ,we all have such twilight hours3 times when the sun has sunk1 and our heart has gone down with it1 and a grey depression settles gradually upon the soul4 ,times when we feel that our life is little1 and low1 and mean3 when we yearn for a sympathy that earth has not to give2 when we turn away disheartened and disgusted from our life and from ourselves1 and turn the faces of what seemed our most faultless works to the wall1 and care not if we never saw them again4 ,times when we go about to cause our heart to despair of all the labour which we took under the sun4 ,times when the failures of others seem better than our successes2 times when we lament over the lowness of our aim1 the meanness of our intention1 the winglessness of our soul2 and yet times when our very discontent with all that we are and have accomplished1 our very disgust at our grovelling minds1 prove our affinity with higher things than any of these that we have grasped here4 ,those anguished yearnings to be nobler prove that we are something nobler than we hold ourselves to be4 ,the depression of the twilight marks our kindred with the golden glory of the sun4 ,thus may we cheer our hearts1 that in their dull hours are wont to judge our aims by our attainments1 and from the inadequacy of the performance1 to conclude the lowness of the intention4 ,the workman's dissatisfaction with his own life's work is the clear proof that his inmost self is nobler1 not only than his attainments1 but often even than his endeavours4 ,i awake from my abstraction1 however1 and look around4 ,the twilight has deepened1 the flowers are losing their colour1 the surrounding objects their distinctness4 ,one peculiar property1 sometimes a charm1 sometimes a dread1 of this light neither clear nor dark1 begins to be developed4 ,i mean the uncertainty1 the indefiniteness1 the illusions of twilight4 ,and how many analogies occur to my mind as ,i sit here musing on the twilight1 and comparing with it the indistinctness and the nigma in which we are living here4 ,and first ,i think of ,god's ancient people3 how many of ,god's promises to them were misconceived because of the twilight in which they were seen4 ,and we might1 thinking shallowly1 wonder that the light of prophecy was such twilight1 so dim1 and the objects seen in it so undefined and uncertain4 ,for instance1 how obscure and almost confusing seems to us the light given to the ,jews as to the spiritual nature of the ,messiah's kingdom4 ,through the twilight of prophecy we may very well fancy that a grand earthly kingdom of power and conquest loomed upon the hope and imagination of the people of ,israel4 ,because of the hardness of their hearts1 indeed1 and the lowness of their spiritual standard1 spiritual revelations had to be clothed for them in a body of flesh4 ,the people that could worship the golden calf under the very cloud that rested upon ,sinai1 would have ill-received1 we may be sure1 a clear revelation of the manner of the ,messiah's kingdom4 ,a kingdom not of this world1 with no outward show of pomp and glory2 a ,king despised and rejected of men1 and nailed upon the accursed tree3 how would those carnal hearts have received such a programme8 ,nay1 how did this people1 even in the ,messiah's time1 receive it8 ,behold the shouting crowds1 one preceding1 one following the ,king of the ,jews6 ,behold the waving palms1 the strewn cloaks6 ,hear the 8,hosannas0 ring out as the concourse arrives in sight of the royal city2 and the enthusiastic burst1 8,blessed is the ,king of ,israel that cometh in the name of the ,lord60 ,what visions1 we perceive1 were seething and working in their minds--visions of restored freedom1 and rule1 and power1 and the sway of ,israel restored1 as in those old glorious days1 from the river even unto the sea4 ,grand1 and splendid1 and indistinct1 that promised kingdom towered before them in the twilight2 they threw loose reins on their imagination1 and let it carry them whither it would4 ,but when the truth which they had so misconceived and misinterpreted stood close to them1 and they perceived its entire difference from their excited dreams1 mark the change--the revulsion4 ,the ,king is crowned2 ,his kingdom is proclaimed as being not of this world3 the crowd are shouting still2 but the cry is now1 8,crucify ,him6 ,crucify ,him60 ,nay further yet4 ,the discovery of the real proportions and character of that fabric which had appeared so majestic and superb through the twilight3 this discovery had proved too much even for their faith who had formed the chosen court of the ,king ,messiah4 8,we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed ,israel02 but1 lo6 the ,shepherd is smitten1 and the sheep are scattered4 ,now1 as it has been pointed out before this1 an illusion of the twilight was converted by the impatience and the carnal hearts of the ,jews1 into a delusion4 ,it was true that a mighty ,king was coming1 that ,he should set up a kingdom great and glorious1 one which should crumble widest kingdoms into the dust4 ,it was true that the enemies of ,god's people should fall before this kingdom which should have no end2 true that this ,king was ,he which should redeem ,israel4 ,all this which was prophesied was no delusion3 all was true3 all came to pass4 ,but now let us search out the fault of the ,jews1 who were deluded by revelation1 and blinded by partial light4 ,they were told that these great things would be3 they were bidden to prepare to receive them4 ,forthwith they decided in their own minds how and in what way ,god would bring them about2 they gave form and shape to those indistinct half-seen masses after the pattern and desire of their own vain hearts2 they decided that ,god would give them the exact reality of their own carnal dreams2 they prepared their heart therefore to receive its own interpretation1 and shut it close against any other4 ,and so when the course of time brought them close to that which their fancy in the twilight had thus disguised1 they could not recognise it1 they refused to believe it3 they passed on beyond it1 still searching after the unreal fabric of their own imagination2 and even now1 while the twilight seems deepening to darkness about them1 they go on and on across the blank desert1 seeking those gigantic hopes which have already1 could they but believe it1 been much more than fulfilled4 8,oh1 say1 in all the bleak expanse1 ,is there a spot to win your glance1 ,so bright1 so dark as this8 ,a hopeless faith1 a homeless race1 ,yet seeking the most holy place1 ,and owning the true bliss60 ,that this was not ,god's doing1 but the result of their own impatience1 and of the earthliness of their own hearts1 we have abundant proof4 ,in that light1 neither clear nor dark1 there were those who were content to wait until ,god ,himself should reveal the manner of those great things that ,he had foreshadowed2 many died thus implicitly waiting2 some1 with ,elizabeth1 and ,simeon1 and holy ,anna1 departed in peace1 their eyes having just seen ,his salvation4 ,they had by diligent use of the light they had1 attained to a more spiritual understanding of prophecy2 and so to them was fulfilled that saying1 8,unto you that have shall more be given40 ,but have we not passed out of the twilight even now that ,christ's fuller revelation has come8 ,no3 for1 ,i take it1 still1 while we live here1 do we walk in the dusk2 it is with us waiting still for the grand indistinct objects of prophecy to assume a definite outline as we draw near to them2 it is the passing on in a twilight march1 contemplating the attained reality of one dim foreshadowing1 and straightway looking up to see before us the gigantic distant form of another1 awful in its dimness and uncertainty4 ,is not this what the ,great ,teacher would have us learn when ,he declares that the spirit of a little child is the right and necessary spirit for those who would receive the kingdom of ,god8 ,in these mighty mysteries we are to be content to be children now1 not yet men3 it is to be twilight here2 noon hereafter4 ,how it saddens me1 then1 sitting in the twilight and waiting for the wonderful panorama of morning2 how it saddens me to hear the loud talk nowadays of our attained manhood--of our possessed noon4 ,nowadays1 forsooth1 we are so full grown1 have such clear light1 that we are to handle doubts familiarly1 and to decide at once concerning that which ,god has but half revealed2 and to reject what we cannot understand1 and to deny that which we cannot define4 ,man's reason--methought that1 at present1 it had to work in the sphere of the twilight2 but this idea is by some rejected with scorn1 and they would fain persuade us that it is already placed in the full blaze of day4 ,the 8province of reason10 we hear great talk of this2 and yet now let me ask what really is the true province of reason8 ,is it1 can it be1 to determine and decide1 to fathom and understand concerning the deep and mysterious ways of ,god1 and ,his counsel secret to us and past finding out8 ,one would think so1 to see men casting overboard this and that revealed truth because they cannot understand it in the twilight1 or because it will not piece in with that creation of their own fancy1 which they would substitute for our revealed ,god4 ,yet to me it seems that we have not the material1 the data1 for such an exercise of reason2 we have not revelation enough for this2 the light is too dim4 ,no1 as we sit here in the twilight it seems to me that the province of reason is not to be straining its eyes to map out the huge mysteries which still lie in the dim distance2 and to declare that those masses are shapeless1 whose shape it cannot trace4 ,is it not rather to consider and to decide concerning those things which are placed within its scope8 ,to satisfy itself as to our ,guide1 as to the reliability of the proofs of ,his being really what ,he claims to be2 to search whether these things be so1 and then implicitly to follow that ,guide through uncertainty into certainty1 out of the twilight into the clear day8 ,this is not to fetter reason1 to cramp thought4 ,it is merely to confine it to its legitimate sphere4 ,it is to acknowledge ourselves now in the dusk1 but expecting the full morning2 to own ourselves children now1 but children who will one day be men4 ,are we not little children here2 our very reason doubtless in its twilight2 probably as unable--even were they explained to us--to take in ,god's counsels1 as a child just capable of an addition-sum would be unable to master and understand the science of astronomy8 ,would anyone who considered wisely of these things1 even wish that this present state should be our manhood8 ,oh1 low view to take of man's magnificent destiny6 ,what8 ,this all8 ,to-day's blunders food for to-morrow's corrections2 schemes of science changing every year2 nothing certain1 nothing known8 ,are we to grow no bigger in knowledge1 are we to grow no bigger in capacity1 than this8 ,is such dim twilight really our full day8 ,ah1 dreary prospect then1 mournful lot6 ,but away with so mean a view of man's future2 with such a cramping of man's reason6 ,little children are we1 must we be1 with regard to the stupendous plans and counsels of ,god1 so long as we have no more than our present amount of ,revelation4 ,we may advance in the world's knowledge1 but we must be content to sit down in the twilight before ,god's ways and counsels1 still as listeners1 still as learners1 reverent1 teachable1 humble2 little children still4 ,how can it be otherwise8 ,we hear of the boasted advance of education and knowledge2 we hear of reason more cultivated1 and thought more free to soar4 ,all very well2 but does this1 can this touch the subject of which ,i speak8 ,in acquiring any further knowledge of ,god's hidden things1 have we advanced at all8 ,is there in our possession any more material on which to set reason to work1 than since the last ,apostle wrote the last epistle8 ,have we advanced8 can we advance8 ,must we not still be children1 must we not still make the most of twilight1 until1 having grown to manhood1 the full light bursts upon us in another world1 and we see no more in an nigma darkly1 but face to face2 know no more in part only1 but even as we are known8 ,oh1 brother1 doubting brother--if any such should hear this my talking out loud with myself--who waverest where thou shouldest stand firm1 and art ready to let that slip1 which thou shouldest keep in thy heart's heart--wilt thou not take these words of the ,wisest and ,best of all1 of a ,teacher most mighty in intellect1 most vast in knowledge2 yea1 who spake as never did man3 wilt thou not say them to thy tossing soul1 until there fall on it a great calm8 ,a little child1 a little child2 that is the model for us here4 ,noon1 one day2 but now1 twilight3 men1 hereafter2 but here1 children3 called upon here not to explain and to fathom1 but to listen and to believe4 ,first1 of course1 let reason determine whether our ,teacher be trustworthy2 but1 this decided1 cannot we be content to be taught by ,him8 ,toil on in the half-light1 and the full light shall break on thee6 ,do the works1 and thou shalt know of the doctrine1 whether it be of ,god4 ,yea1 but you say1 this is none other than a leap in the dark4 ,before ,i feel the divinity of the doctrine1 why should ,i do the works8 ,what is my warrant1 that ,i should do1 before ,i know8 ,this1 ,o man1 satisfy thyself as to thy ,guide4 ,examine whether ,he be what ,he pretends to be4 ,and then commit thyself to ,his guidance4 ,implicitly1 entirely1 like a child that likes to put his hand into his ,father's1 because of the uncertain light4 ,do1 then1 the works1 on this warrant4 ,believe me1 the doing them will make thy faith rock-firm4 ,is there not1 ,i would ask the sceptic--is there not something in a simple child-like faith1 leading to a holy angelic life1 that brings the protest of a great reality against all your doubts and waverings8 ,watching such a quiet unearthly life1 you feel1 through all your shadows and questionings1 that here1 at least1 is something real4 ,while you have been making religion a series of puzzles1 he has been making it a series of deeds4 ,you studied ,revelation in order to find out its difficulties2 he studied it in order to learn its precepts1 to learn how to live4 ,and1 depend upon it1 he has thus gained a far deeper insight even into those unfathomable mysteries by his study than you can ever do by yours4 ,do3 then thou shalt know much more even of the doctrine4 ,oh1 my brother1 be content2 'tis only waiting6 ,receive the kingdom of ,god as a little child4 8,hath not ,god made foolish the wisdom of this world80 ,if we enter the lists with ,him as equals1 ,he will mock us1 and let us be puzzled1 and bring to nothing the understanding of even the prudent and intellectual4 ,thus did our ,lord with the cavilling ,pharisees1 perplexing them with the question how ,messiah could be ,david's son1 and yet his ,lord4 ,but if we sit at ,his feet as learners1 ,he will teach us much that the humble alone may know4 ,granted that in this dim light some of ,his ways puzzle us1 and seem inexplicable4 ,granted that ,his own words are true1 8,what ,i do thou knowest not now40 ,but there is no need to understand ,his counsels1 for the attaining salvation4 ,and let us take it on trust1 as well we may1 that what may seem ,god's harshness1 is kinder than man's kindness2 that what may seem ,god's foolishness1 is wiser than man's wisdom2 that what seems ,god's weakness1 is stronger than man's strength4 ,illustration ,i have mused in the twilight1 near the boundless1 restless1 ever-tumbling sea1 and under the vast canopy of heaven2 ,i have mused in the twilight1 until the darkness has fallen1 and the heaven is eloquent with its sign-speech of stars4 ,sitting in a speck of one of those myriad worlds that1 flying along with inconceivable velocity1 yet appear to me intensely still in the dark1 ,i catch a glimpse of the immensity of the plans and designs of ,god4 ,star whirls by star1 system fits into system1 all in an astounding complex order2 none clashing1 each kept in its due place and its right proportion by the ,infinite ,mind4 ,and ,i gather a hint of a reply to many questions that perplex us1 many problems that weary us here2 questions that are often best answered by the confession that here we cannot answer them2 questions worst answered by an inadequate attempt resulting in an inadequate explanation2 questions that we may perhaps quiet with such thoughts as these3--,who knows into what other schemes and systems this life of our globe and of ourselves may be fitted2 who knows1 seated in this isolated planet1 in this narrow twilight of time1 how the vast day of ,eternity before1 and the vast day of ,eternity behind1 may make at once evident things that here were deepest1 seemingly shapeless1 mysteries to our mind8 ,the moon rolls round the earth1 and the earth round the sun1 and this again1 with all its planets1 round some greater centre2 and so on1 perhaps1 who shall guess how far8 ,for space1 as well as time1 is infinite1 boundless1 with the eternal ,god4 ,and thus1 too1 ,i divine1 with that vastness and complexity of scheme which we shall not begin to understand until we gain the standing-point of ,eternity2 thus too1 ,i seem entitled to prophesy1 with the infinite designs of ,god1 and with the interwoven system of ,his counsels4 ,how can we1 how should we1 understand the different bearings1 the linked relations1 of ,his eternal plans8 ,a fly perched on one nut in the enormous machinery of some manufactory1 and deciding upon the plan and purpose and working of the whole1 from the twistings of the point on which he stood2 nay1 this is not even a poor analogy with the position of man standing on this speck of ,time1 and complacently deciding concerning the tremendous counsels of ,him who inhabiteth ,eternity4 ,heaven is revealed to us as night deepens4 ,thus1 as the ,twilight of the good man's life dusks towards night1 stars1 unperceived before1 stars of certainty1 of knowledge1 of hope1 of trust1 steal out one by one into his sky1 until the heaven is one glitter above him4 ,earth dies out1 and becomes indistinct2 its colours are toned down1 its scenery becomes less absorbing and obtrusive2 it begins to take its proper place in that eternal glittering dust of worlds4 ,and so amid that speaking silence he falls asleep4 ,i suppose that then1 in ,paradise1 a clear morning breaks1 which afterwards1 in ,heaven1 becomes the full light of noon4 ,but the ,twilight has gone3 night has come down upon the sea3 the earnest silence of those infinitely multiplied stars becomes oppressive3 ,i am getting chilly also1 and want my tea4 ,therefore ,i go indoors1 close the shutters1 and rest my strained thoughts with the sight of the cheery lamp-lit room2 and1 asking and obtaining of my wife some half-dozen of my favourite 8,songs without ,words10 call back my musings from those exhausting mysteries of our twilight state1 and lull them with the gentler and more peaceful mystery of music4 ,illustration ,,winter ,,days4 ,illustration ,there is always1 ,i think1 much more of sadness in the anticipation of ,winter days than we find that they at all deserved when they are once fairly at home with us4 ,the anticipation1 the transition1 is sad from ,autumn profusion to ,winter bareness4 ,the month that severs the two is a month somewhat tinged with melancholy1 and clad in a weeping robe of fogs and mists4 ,there is a certain chill and gloom in wandering about the shrouded face of the so-lately rich ,autumn fields1-- 8,when a blanket wraps the day1 ,when the rotten woodland drips1 ,and the leaf is stamped in clay10-- there is something sad in passing through the sodden lanes1 thickly carpeted with flat damp leaves1 and strewn with the bright sienna chesnuts2 here the gleaming nut1 and there the three-fold shattered husk1 brown-green1 with cream-white lining4 ,you may find a sort of pleasing melancholy1 of tender romance1 in watching the first tints of ,autumn stealing over the ,summer1 from the very first1 when 8,the long-smouldering fire within the trees ,begins to blaze through vents10 until1--tree by tree1 wood by wood1 landscape by landscape1--they stand in their glory-- 8,the death-flushed trees1 that1 in the falling year1 ,as the ,assyrian monarch1 clothe themselves ,in their most gorgeous pageantry to die40 ,then the first frosts1 and the calm clear mornings1 and the grey fresh blue of the evenings1 with their sprinkling of intensely piercingly glittering stars4 ,and then the deep spell upon the trees is broken1 and we stand and watch while1 now in a shower and now singly1 8,the calm leaves float ,each to his rest beneath their parent shade10 and the year seems just passing away like a beautiful dissolving view4 ,there is also something to keep you up1 something of excitement and stir1 and glow1 in the brave ,october days1 when a great wind comes roaring and booming over the land1 and you see the tall ash trees toss up their wild arms in dismay1 and a deep roar gathers in the elms1 and a far hissing in the pines1 and from that beech avenue1 8,the flying gold of the ruined woodlands ,drives through the air40 ,you can walk out1 and press your hat on to your head1 and button your coat1 and labour up the rising downs1 yielding no foot to the blustering screaming wind2 and a glow and exhilaration tingles in your veins as you march on1 with pace no whit slackened for all its vehement opposition4 ,but ,november has come2 and the calm quiet hectic of ,september and the hale vigour of ,october have now passed away4 ,the rain has sodden and struck down leaf after leaf1 heaping the roadside1 until you might count the leaves left upon the trees that edge the lanes4 ,a sense of bareness and desolation oppresses you1 and an aspect of dreariness and moist death has overspread the landscape4 ,you walk into the garden3 the dahlias are blackened with the frosts of ,october2 the pinched geraniums1 verbenas1 heliotropes1 lie wrecked on the beds2 the few straggling chrysanthemums and scattered ,michaelmas daisies--these are not enough to cheer you2 for even these are drooping in the universal damp1 and strung with trembling glittering diamonds of sorrowful tears4 ,the dark sodden walnut-leaves thickly carpet the side paths1 and the most cheerful thing in them is here and there the black wet walnut lying1 with just a warm hint of the clean bright yellow shell within1 betrayed through a torn fibrous gap4 ,day after day the fog sleeps over the land1 and you see your breath in the morning in the cold damp air4 ,you are brought face to face--earth stripped of its poetry and romance--face to face with ,winter days4 ,illustration ,and their approach seems gloomy4 ,the light1 and warmth1 and the glory of the year have gone2 but1 as yet1 the memory of them has not all quite departed4 ,there are still the gleeful leaves lying1 poor dead things1 in the lanes2 there are yet the unburied flowers1 black on the garden-beds2 the air is tepid2 the trees are not entirely bare2 the state is one of transition4 8,the year's in the wane1 ,there is nothing adorning1 ,the night has no eve1 ,and the day has no morning2-- ,cold ,winter gives warning40 ,yes1 the approach of ,winter days seems gloomy4 ,we have more in our thought the chill drear outside of ,winter1 than his warm comfortable core1 glowing as the heart of a burst pomegranate4 ,but ,november has now ended1 and ,december has come4 ,the early days of this month seem stragglers from that which has just gone out1 and the same chill warm gloom prevails4 ,there is a muggy closeness in the air2 everything feels damp to the touch1 and an oppressive scent of decay dwells in the gardens and the fields4 ,you seem to see low fevers brooding over the lanes and alleys of the city1 and you apprehend that 8green ,yule10 which 8makes a fat kirkyard40 ,your spirits1 if your health be such as that they are a little dependent on the weather1 seem drooping and languid and foggy too4 ,and in this mood it is that you determine after lunch to call for a friend1 and take a walk for a mile or two1 with thick boots and trousers turned up1 because of the drenched roads and the sticky fields4 ,and you warm into a better mood with the walk and the talk1 and make the mile or two five or six miles2 indeed the sun is setting1 and a deepening dusk in the sky shows a pale star here and there1 while you are yet a mile from home4 ,a sort of clearness and freshness seems to have come into the air since you started homewards2 and you notice as you walk on1 the frosty glitter in the stars1 and you perceive that the road is actually growing rough and hard under your feet1 and the road-side puddles are gathering a lace-work at their edge4 8,by the breath of ,god frost is given3 ,and the breadth of the waters is straitened40 ,and so either 8the hoary frost of heaven0 falls upon the earth1 making a white feather of every straw1 and a crisp fairy forest of the lawn1 and a fernery of the windows1 and hanging gardens of the spider's webs1 and a wondrous dreamland of the asparagus bed1 a mist of white feather-foliage1 with a lovely scattering of red fruit glowing among it here and there2 or a black frost descends on the lands and waters1 holding them with a gripe that grows closer1 closer1 and stiffens with more iron rigidity every day1 until 8,the waters are hid as with a stone1 ,and the face of the deep is frozen40 ,and the blood tingles in the veins1 and life and health come back with sudden rush1 and you leave who will to stay by the fire1 while you start forth with swinging skates to do the next best thing to flying2 having dined hastily at midday1 so as to have a long evening4 ,illustration ,and one night you go to bed1 leaving a yellow dun sky sleeping over the hard fields4 ,at a little before seven you rise1 and drawing aside the blind with something of a shiver and a yawn1 rub your eyes with amaze4 ,in the half dark you seem to look out from your dim-lit room upon one large ,twelfthcake1 with a dark figure here and there for an ornament4 ,and when you put out your candle1 and draw up the blind1 on how strange a sight do you look6 ,how changed the appearance of everything since last night6 ,what a heavy fall of snow there has been2 and how sudden1 and how silent6 ,against the slate sky a few dark flakes steal down1 or a small drift dances1 changing into a pearl-white as they sink lower1 and are seen against the black bare trees1 or the full evergreens4 ,you are fascinated2 you must stand at the window and watch4 ,that araucaria--how can its long dark arms hold such a piled sheer height of snow8 ,how deep and dazzling it lies upon the window sill6 what a broad sheet upon the roof of that barn6 how of the thinnest twigs of the nut trees and the acacias each sustains his piled inch and-a-half in the complete stillness6 how the laurels bend down under great heavy loads of snow2 and the erect holly shows a prickly dark gleam1 and a burning berry here and there6 ,all the sad traces of the dead ,summer are buried1 and the bustling birds chirp and huddle upon the anew foliaged branches1 raining down a miniature snow-storm as they fidget about the trees4 ,all the sodden leaves1 and the black flower-stalks1 and the bare fields are hidden now1 and ,autumn and ,summer are buried2 and the ,winter days are come in earnest4 ,ah1 yes1 the sadness was more in the transition1 and now that that is over and the change made1 did you not discover that-- 8,some beauty still was found2 for1 when the fogs had passed away1 ,the wide lands came glittering forward in a fresh and strange array2 ,naked trees had got snow foliage1 soft1 and feathery1 and bright1 ,and the earth looked dressed for heaven1 in its spiritual white4 8,black and cold as iron armour lay the frozen lakes and streams2 ,round about the fenny plashes shone the long and pointed gleams ,of the tall reeds1 ice-encrusted2 the old hollies1 jewel-spread1 ,warmed the white1 marmoreal chillness with an ardency of red3 8,upon desolate morasses1 stood the heron like a ghost1 ,beneath the gliding shadows of the wild fowls' noisy host2 ,and the bittern clamoured harshly from his nest among the sedge1 ,where the indistinct1 dull moss had blurred the rugged water's edge40 ,but1 ,o writer1 your pen has wandered2 and this mere description of ,god's snow and frost is mere secular writing4 ,dear ,reader1 let me contradict you1 and plead--8,it is not so40 ,a careful loving observer of ,god's works1 attains also the privilege of becoming a reader of a second volume of ,god's word4 ,and if you would have for what ,i say authority from the sacred volume1 take it down and turn to the #ajdth ,psalm4 ,you will find in that1 ,god's works abundantly brought in and interwoven with ,god's word1 still further1 as ,i may say1 embellishing and beautifying it2 and illuminating the text with initial letters and little gems of illustration4 ,here is a bird's nest1 you will find1 swung securely in the long flat arm of a cedar2 here a breadth of bright green grass1 with cattle feeding upon it2 here a tinkling spring1 trickling down the hill side1 whilst1 as it sleeps in the valley1 the beasts of the field gather about it1 and the wild asses quench their thirst4 ,the birds chirp and sing among the branches1 the murmuring rain descends from the chambers of ,god upon the grateful hills and the satisfied earth2 the tender grapes appear1 and the 8olive-hoary capes10 and the wide waving fields of the deep golden grain4 ,the high hills are a refuge for the wild goats1 and the conies stud the rocks here and there4 ,there are moonlight scenes1 and sunsets1 and an ,eastern night1 with its great luminous stars1 and the deep roar of the lion creeping under the shadow of those tall silent palms4 ,there is a field with labourers at work1 coming out from their homes as the sun rises1 and the beasts of prey slink back to theirs4 ,and there are sea pieces too3 we turn from the land to the hoary wrinkled ocean1 with its ships1 and its monsters1 and its innumerable population1 all gathering their meat from ,god4 ,and in other psalms1 and in many another part of the ,bible1 we find ,god's word studded with illustrations from ,god's works4 ,in the #adgth ,psalm1 for instance1 there is something to our present purpose3 8,he sendeth forth ,his commandment upon earth3 ,his word runneth very swiftly4 ,he giveth snow like wool3 ,he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes4 ,he casteth forth ,his ice like morsels3 who can stand before ,his cold80 ,further1 who will not recall our ,saviour's teaching1 so interwoven with pictures from the wonders of beauty and design which1 the clue having been once given1 reveal ,god to us through ,nature4 8,consider the lilies of the field1 how they grow40 8,behold the fowls of the air40 ,then the corn-field1 the vineyard1 the fig-tree1 the fall of the sparrows1 the red evening and morning sky1--through all these ,christ teaches us4 ,and ,st4 ,paul1 forthshadowing the resurrection body1 what does he but use the image of the seed sown in the plough-lands1 and rising again with the new and glorious body which ,god gives it1 as it pleaseth ,him8 ,religion1 in truth1 is too much thought of as 8a star that dwells apart10 and is not one with our common life2 not as the daisy by our hedgerows1 or the rose in our gardens1 as well as the light in our sky4 ,it should not be a mere ,sunday garb1 to be wrapped up and put away in a drawer till ,sunday comes again2 if we understand and use it aright1 it is our holiday dress1 and our every-day dress too2 and no need to fear lest we should shabby it1 or wear it out4 ,the world may look on it as an artificial restraint1 a thing to be put on1 and not our common apparel2 as a light which has to be lit after a great deal of fuss in striking the match2 or a moon only useful in the night of sorrow4 ,but we should learn to make it a light ever at hand1 and ever in use2 there needs not that we should have to make a disturbance in order to procure it at any moment3-- 8,but close to us it gleams1 ,its soothing lustre streams ,around our ,home's green walls1 and on our ,churchway path40 ,only thoughts on ,nature should really lead on to thoughts of ,god2 else we do but look at the type1 but are not reading the book4 ,and ,i must here own to something of deeper meaning underlying these stray jottings on ,winter days4 ,for it struck me that1 taking the reader's arm1 and walking out for a short stroll into the frosty air through the vista of ,november1 ,i might show1 perchance1 from one or two points of view1 the cheeriness and the calm1 and the deep heart of peace1 that underlies all even of the sadnesses that ,god sends4 ,there is a bitter kernel to all the sorrows that we bring on ourselves--the kernel of remorse and unavailing regret4 ,but there is a sweet kernel1 believe me1 to all the bitter-cased walnuts which fall1 naturally1 straight down from ,god's trees4 ,there is use1 yea1 also1 beauty1 in ,his dying fields and ,his shrouded earth2 in ,his ,november1 and in ,his ,winter days4 ,let me gather a thought here and there that seem to come up1 like ,christmas roses1 from the bare beds of ,winter days4 ,illustration ,the life of man has its ,november time2 a time of sheer1 literal1 moist decay2 no romantic flush of ,autumn woods1 freaking them with a thousand fancies and poetic hues1 and crowning death with an intense1 fascinating1 dreamy glory4 ,the wild abundant ,spring blossoms are over long ago2 the achievements of ,summer1 sobered though they were1 have passed away1 and the tinge of pleasant dreamy melancholy that touched their first decay has died out2 and the heart sinks as we look around us4 8,that time of life thou dost in him behold1 ,when yellow leaves1 or few or none1 do hang ,upon the boughs that shake against the cold1 ,bare ruined choirs1 where late the sweet birds sang40 ,the ageing man looks back upon his past life1 and on all the works that his hands have wrought1 and on the labour that he has laboured to do2 and behold1 all is vanity and vexation of spirit1 and there was no profit under the sun4 ,what we meant to be1 and what we are6 ,the bright1 soaring1 heaven-adorned bubbles that gleamed about us1 and the little mess of soapsuds that are sinking into the ground here and there6 ,the crowd1 the rush of emerald vivid buds that our boyhood knew2 and now the bare1 poor black twigs and branches1 that drip above the yellow stained heaps below6 ,hopes1 ambition1 dreams1 love1 friendships1 aspirations1 yearnings1 plans1 resolves1 scattered and lying about the lanes of our life1 or here and there heaped in a mass at some well-remembered turn or corner1 dead1 and sodden1 and desolate exceedingly4 8,oh6 'tis sad to lie and reckon ,all the days of faded youth1 ,all the vows that we believed in1 ,all the words we spoke in truth40 ,well1 and what then8 ,can there be a ,december to follow upon and beautify those sad chilly hours8 ,i think so4 ,sometimes it is just when the leaves are all fallen1 and the flowers all dead1 and the fruits only represented by a straggler lying here and there1 and when the bare boughs are strung with trembling tears that gleam with a dull light in the heavy enfolding mist2 sometimes it is even then that a wondrous work is wrought4 ,a pinching frost comes with1 as it seems1 the finishing stroke1 and the last sere leaf circles down1 and even the fading chrysanthemums blacken1 and the little robin lies dead on the iron border4 ,a dim sky overglooms all1 and you go your sad way from the scene as night deepens over it4 ,but ,god wakens you some morning1 and bids you look out of the dim-lit room in which your heart was shut2 and lo6 a strange transformation6 ,his consolations1 and ,his teaching of the deep meaning of things1 have descended thick and abundant from heaven1 and even earth's dull ruins and desolations are glorified and transfigured by the beauty of that heavenly snow4 ,you are content now that the earthly foliage should have made way for and given place to that unearthly glory which reclothes earth's bare boughs2 you can think calmly1 quietly1 without any anguish1 of those desolate leaves1 and stained flowers1 and cold robin1 that all sleep undisturbedly under the snow4 ,god's snow1 ,i think--the snow which ,he sends down upon hearts desolate and deserted1 8,that once were gay1 and felt the ,spring40 ,god's quiet snow1 ,i think1 that succeeds all the ,spring and ,summer excitements1 and ecstasies1 and heats of life1 is just that peace of ,god which passeth all understanding sent down to keep our heart and mind1 that its life be not destroyed nor its aspirations all cut off1 but that it may be folded over warm and safe until the ,resurrection1 that ,spring time1 better than earth's ,springs1 which do but reform perishable buds and leaves2 a ,spring which shall know no ,november1 no ,winter days2 a ,spring which shall no doubt revive and recover every feeling1 and thought1 and love1 and aspiration which was really ,god-given and beautiful1 and shall make those blighted hopes bright with the blossom of unearthly beauty1 and shall bend the bare boughs of those unquiet inexpressible yearnings low towards ,him with the abundant fruit of satisfaction4 8,brighter1 fairer far than living1 ,with no trace of change or stain1 ,robed in everlasting beauty1 ,shall we see them once again40 ,i think the contemplation a little way off1 of any sorrow or bereavement1 bears out what ,i have said concerning the anticipation of ,winter being really the worst and most cheerless time--a time when only the chill1 and the death1 and the dreariness is in our thoughts1 and we do not suspect the strange beauties that will accompany it1 nor the warm glow that is hidden in its heart4 ,we only see the trouble coming1 and we know not1 until the time of need is even with us1 of the consolation1 and the support1 and the spiritual loveliness that are coming too2 coming with the silent step of the snow1 or the unseen breath of the frost1 to adorn thoughts1 and feelings1 and character with a fringe and foliage of heavenly beauty2 coming with a glow of consolation1 like ,christmas in the heart of ,winter--the warm fire of ,god's love1 which can keep out earth's sharpest and most piercing cold4 ,so that when the ,winter has really come1 and we look out on the soft snow of ,god's peace1 and creep closer to the fire of ,god's love1 we find that even the sharpest ,winter days are not so terrible as ,november painted them2 and1 revolving and realising their beauty and their use1 we can enter into his feelings who said1 8,it is good for me that ,i have been afflicted02 and say ,amen with quiet grateful hearts to those once inexplicable words1 8,blessed are they that mourn1 for they shall be comforted40 99 99 99 99 99 ,the thought of ,winter days seems to lead us at once1 by analogy1 to the ,winter of ,death drawing near any one of us1 old men and maidens1 young men and children4 ,and indeed this time1 seen from the misty avenues of ,november1 is apt to seem chill and cold to the mind and heart4 ,still1 ,i am sure that death1 since the ,saviour died1 is not a time of real unlovely or uncomforted gloom to the obedient and faithful child of ,god4 ,oh no6 when that ,winter has indeed come1 such a one then perceives and realises its ,christmas heart of warm comfort1 and its unearthly frost work of strange sweet thoughts and teachings4 ,to such a one1 if gloomy1 it is only gloomy by anticipation1 and while the traces of earth's ,summers yet linger1 and the tears and regrets of earth are yet glittering on the empty trees1 bare lands1 and faded flowers2 only gloomy until ,god has quite weaned us1 first by ,his chastenings and then by ,his consolations4 ,how sad it is that1 in our common ideas1 and representations1 and modes of speech1 ,death1 even the good man's death--should be overshadowed with such dismal gloom6 ,i remember a curious proof of this1 if proof were needed4 ,in a small illustrated edition of ,longfellow's poems1 the artist has chosen for illustration those sweet verses1 8,the ,reaper and the ,flowers40 ,you know them1 of course1 my reader1 by heart4 ,you remember these graceful lines3-- 8,he gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes1 ,he kissed their drooping leaves2 ,it was for the ,lord of ,paradise ,he bound them in his sheaves4 8#8,my ,lord hath need of these flow'rets gay1' ,the ,reaper said1 and smiled2 #8,dear tokens of the earth are they1 ,where ,he was once a ,child4'0 ,and how do you think the artist has represented that gentle ,angel-,reaper8 ,actually as a hideous ,skeleton with a lank scythe6 ,so ingrained is that ghastly and loathsome idea of death in the common thought of men4 ,then think of all the impenetrable gloom with which we surround death in this ,christian ,england in this nineteenth century2 of the utter absence of hope or beauty 7save for the glorious pan of the service7 in our obsequies4 ,listen1 as soon as the happy1 hopeful ,christian has 8fallen asleep10 to the manner in which we tell the news to the family of our village or town4 ,drop1 drop1 like melted lead falling1 for a whole hour sometimes comes that dull monotony of gloom1 ,,toll1 ,,toll1 ,,toll1 till the heart dies down into depression for the day4 ,illustration ,save that we know that that recurring note comes from the belfry of the peaceful little church that presides hopefully and holily over its gathering of sleepers--save for this1 would there1 ,i ask1 be any thought but of dreariness in that dull ceaseless repetition of one desolate tone8 ,death is1 indeed always a grave and solemn thing1 and it were well that a grave and solemn voice should announce its presence to the clustered or the scattered homes4 ,but why change solemnity into despair8 ,why fill the air with nought but heavy gloom for a whole hour or half-hour8 ,i would not say1 in the words of ,poe3-- 8,avaunt6 to-night my heart is light1 no dirge will ,i upraise1 ,but waft the angel on her flight with a pan of old days6 ,let no bell toll6 lest her sweet soul1 amid its hallowed mirth1 ,should catch the note as it doth float up from the weeping earth40 ,for there must be sadness here1 if there be joy where the spirit has gone4 ,only let not the dark cloud be debarred from any the least silver lining4 ,something gentle1 tender1 and sweet1 in accordance1 so far as earth's lamenting can accord1 with the glory and rapture of the released one1 would surely be better for the living than that slow prolonged numbering the beads of their own sorrow4 ,i would have the bells rung1 as for a wedding2 only with a minute's interval between each note4 ,so the joy and the sorrow would each claim its share4 ,the early ,christians used to speak of and commemorate the day of death1 as 8 10 the birthday feast of the ,dead4 ,what a different way of putting things from our compassionate mention--not of the surviving1 but of the dead4 ,poor so-and-so6 ,how sad6--this1 for the spirit1 that we feel a good hope1 is in ,paradise6 ,how the having it put before you in the just view--rather as an entering into true life1 than a dying from it1 casts a glow on what most seem to regard as nought but gloom4 ,a most exquisite instance of such a beautiful putting of such a sharp ,winter day to even a bereaved father and mother1 ,i find in one of ,archbishop ,leighton's heavenly letters4 ,in what a different light must their loss1 surely1 have appeared to them1 after its perusal4 8,indeed10 he writes1 8it was a sharp stroke of a pen1 that told me your pretty ,johnny was dead3 and ,i felt it truly more than1 to my remembrance1 ,i did the death of any child in my lifetime4 ,sweet thing6 and is he so quickly laid to sleep8 ,happy he6 ,though we shall have no more the pleasure of his lisping and laughing1 he shall have no more the pain of crying1 nor of being sick1 nor of dying3 and hath wholly escaped the trouble of schooling1 and all other sufferings of boys1 and the riper and deeper griefs of riper years1 this poor life being all along but a linked chain of many sorrows and many deaths4 ,tell my dear sister she is now much more akin to the other world2 and this will quickly be passed to us all4 ,john is but gone an hour or two sooner to bed1 as children use to do1 and we are undressing to follow40 ,in another letter the same writer says of himself-- 8,i am grown exceedingly uneasy in writing and speaking1 yea1 almost in thinking1 when ,i reflect how cloudy our clearest thoughts are2 but1 ,i think again what other can we do1 till the day break and the shadows flee away1 as one that lieth awake in the night must be thinking2 and one thought that will likely oftenest return1 when by all other thoughts he finds little relief1 is1 when will it be day80 ,you see he would have wondered to be spoken of thus--8,poor ,leighton has gone40 ,answer1 8,how very sad10--when at last he had attained to that day4 ,let me show1 by another noble instance1 that1 as ,winter days1 when they come1 bring often unforeseen beauty and gladness with them1 so not even the anticipation is always necessarily sad to the eye of exalted faith4 ,remember you those words of the mighty ,apostle of ,christ--when the ,winter time was yet somewhat removed--with their more than calm anticipation of it1 their deep warmth of joy8 8,to me to live is ,christ1 and to die is gain4 ,what ,i shall choose ,i wot not4 ,for ,i am in a strait betwixt two1 having a desire to depart1 and to be with ,christ2 which is far better40 ,and then the stirring tones of exultation and triumph1 as now but few leaves were left1 and ,winter days were even at the door4 8,i am now ready to be offered1 and the time of my departure is at hand4 ,i have fought a good fight1 ,i have finished my course1 ,i have kept the faith3 ,henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness1 which the ,lord1 the righteous ,judge1 shall give me at that day40 ,here is an aurora borealis flashing up to the heavens in light and splendour1 over the wide snow landscape of ,winter days4 ,illustration ,,the ,,end ,,of ,,the ,,seasons4 ,illustration ,the ,summer is past1 the ,autumn is passing quite away1 the ,harvest is long ended1 the fruit all garnered4 ,and the year seems as desolate as ,solomon in his sad time1 having been clad in more than all his glory4 ,it has gathered gardens1 and orchards1 and pools1 and singers1 and delights2 and whatsoever its eyes desired it kept not from them1 nor withheld its heart from any joy or beauty2 and it rejoiced in all its labour4 ,but now what a change6 ,you may fancy that it has looked on all the works that it had wrought1 and on the labour that it had laboured to do1--and1 behold1 all was vanity and vexation of spirit1 and there was no profit under the sun6 ,and so it hastens to cast away all its gathered store and cherished delights1 and stands naked1 desolate1 bankrupt1 under the cold searching gaze of the clear bright stars4 ,ah6 8,where is the pride of ,summer1 the green prime1-- ,the many1 many leaves all twinkling8 ,three ,on the mossed elm2 three on the naked lime1 ,trembling1--and one upon the old oak tree60 ,nature is always beautiful to those who always look for beauty in her4 ,but perhaps she is least lovely when clad in a close thick fog4 ,and it is thus that we have seen her continually of late4 ,the wet black trees stood dim and ghostlike in the mist1 and much like seaweed under tissue-paper4 ,the hedges looked unreal and distant1 as you passed between them on the pale road4 ,passengers and carriages loomed blurred and big and indistinct1 out of the chill cloud in front of you1 long after the wheels and the steps had been heard4 ,dull unglittering dew strung the branches that stretched over you1 and gave a blunt light here and there in the hedge4 ,you were isolated from your kind2 scarce could you see one approaching until he was close upon you2 and then1 a few steps1 and he was straightway swallowed up4 ,it was not a fading morning mist2 but a good ,november fog1 one developing from cold blue to grey1 and thence to yellow1 and so on to tawny dun4 ,homeward-bound1 you emerge from it into the railway-station4 ,the train is late2 the fire is pleasant2 and you muse or doze away half-an-hour by the waiting-room fire4 ,presently a red spot dyes part of the mist2 a behemoth mass is perceivable beside the platform2 you get into a carriage1 the whistle shrills1 the train moves1 and the station lights are gone in a minute1--and you also are swallowed up in the fog4 ,and as you pass1 up the garden1 home1--the chance is that you hurry on1 where you would have paused to admire beauty4 ,in the cold fog1 the asparagus1 hung with leaden mist-drops that chilly gleam here and there1 bends and falls about its mounded bed2 a black1 wet1 sere leaf or two clings to the ragged black sticks against that wall2 the acacias drop pattering drops upon the broad fallen sycamore leaves3 you might as well walk through water1 as cross that lawn for a short cut to the warm mellow room1 at whose window1 which opens to the ground1 stands she who chiefly makes that house1 home4 ,you are not sorry to shut the windows1 and to have the curtains drawn1 and to let the earth stand without1 like a shrouded ghost1 clad in winding-sheet of fog1 while you enjoy the genial blaze1 the cosy meal1 the little ones on your lap after dinner1 the gentle wifely smile that loves to see these loved4 ,well1 ,i contend that there is beauty even in the fog2 but ,i will not stop to prove this now4 ,i will only say that there is less beauty in this than in most other aspects of nature1 and much excuse for the connecting the foggy bare time of year with chill and dreary thoughts4 ,then1 growth of flower and fruit seems suspended1 save for a scarlet splash on the hedge here and there2 and dead-fingered fungi crowd in bunches above the graves of the flowers1 and at the roots of the trees4 ,the fields are bare1 with no coming crops2 only swart and self-satisfied pigs roam in herds over them3 the grass has stopped growing2 there is neither blossom nor fruit1 nor leaves upon the trees2 the birds' nests are empty and sodden2 hope and fulfilment seem alike departed1 and death seems to reign in solitary gloom over the pale and shrouded land4 ,is not all this sad beyond tears8 ,no2 we are sure that this is not sad in the year1 really2 for that memory and hope are alike supporting the year's aged steps1 as it totters into ,december4 ,the hope is to be found in every twig1 as well as in the broad brown lands that are beginning to be ruled in music lines of thin emerald4 ,the memory suggests by analogy1 and in a sweet figure1 those words that have comforted many a mourner1-- 8,i heard a voice from heaven saying unto me1 ,write1 ,blessed are the dead which die in the ,lord from henceforth3 ,yea1 saith the ,spirit1 that they may rest from their labours2 and their works do follow them40 ,it is not sad1 really1 to see the year in its bareness and barrenness2 lonely winds searching over the cornless uplands1 and sighing amid the stripped boughs2 dull fogs brooding over the damp fields1 and shrouding the universal desolation and decay4 ,no2 because the fruits have been1 and are garnered in4 ,it is not that the year's work has been left1 until too late1 to do4 ,it is only that it is done4 ,it is not sad1 really2 for when we walk through the dull bare fields1 that once moved with millions of stalks and one whisper1 we think of the heaped1 massed grain1 or of the crumbling white flour1 or of the tawny square loaves4 ,or1 if we miss the dancing grass and the bobbing clover1 we look at the goodly camps of close-stacked hay1 under the peaked roofs of straw4 ,and walking through the garden or the orchard1 if for a moment we are chilled by the bare look of the pitiful cold boughs1 black1 and ragged1 and starred with tears1 our thought flies from these to the bright1 smooth red or white cherries1 and the dark blue-bloomed damsons1 and the ruddy plums1 and the yellow pears1 and the grey greengages1 and the dead-orange apricots1 and the smooth nectarines1 and the soft1 crimson-hearted peaches1--all of which were1 in their turn1 yielded faithfully by those desolate branches4 ,ay1 and we think with double satisfaction of a store yet left2 of the cosy apples and freckled pears1 sorted1 wiped1 and laid by in rows--brown-yellow nonpareils1 streaked ribstones1 mellow ,blenheim oranges1 and russets1 betraying a gleam of gold just where the brown has rubbed4 ,we may1 perhaps1 think--but this is a pleasing thought1--how different all would be with the year1 were all this otherwise1 and had the ,spring1 and ,summer1 and ,autumn been squandered in merely making wreaths of dying flowers1 that perished at the chill breath of the fogs and frosts4 ,illustration ,thus1 then1 our sober thought concludes4 ,but still1 to our fancy the year seems desolate1 forlorn1 and sad2 the fog is a chill and heavy depression2 the rain sobs out its heart in tears2 the wind-- 8,like a broken worldling wails1 ,and the flying gold of the ruined woodland drives through the air40 ,in poetry1 and even in prose1 we do not most readily think of the year1 between ,november and ,christmas1 as asleep after work done1 but as stagnant1 and brooding in despair over a wasted life and lost opportunities1 and hopes withered and gone by4 ,why does this aspect arise most naturally to our mind8 for no such thought would trouble that of a contemplating angel4 ,well1 the truth is1 that we look through coloured glass1 tinting with a hue of sadness to the mind's eye things not really sad4 ,we see the leaves circle down1 and straightway are reminded that-- 8,we all do fade as a leaf40 ,we see the mists gather and the rain descend1 and no one but can recall heavy mists of sorrow that rose over the heart's landscape1 and glooming clouds that burst in bitter tears4 ,and the wind gets its wail as it passes through our heart1 and not from the bare boughs of the watered resting trees4 ,and we choose to represent the year as thoughtlessly glad and wastefully profuse in its lost seasons1 and as now broken-hearted and despairing2 because this is so common a case1 if not in our own experience1 yet in the history of so very many about us4 ,we cannot but think how this idle business and succeeding gloom is indeed to be found too often1 too often1 in the year of man's life4 ,flowers1 when he is young2 flowers1 in life's prime2 flowers1 in its ,autumn2 and what will ye do in the end thereof8 ,what1 when the fogs and the frosts have come1 and the evil days are close at hand1 and the years draw nigh when thou shalt say1 ,i have no pleasure in them8 ,where is the secure store1 the treasure laid up in the safe garner1 to cheer the heart when the sap has gone down for this year1 and the fields are blank1 and growth is stayed8 ,how foolish1 we can see and should readily acknowledge2 how unpardonably shortsighted it would be of the ,year to postpone its work of preparing1 maturing1 ripening its fruits until the dark1 short1 chill days towards its end4 8,it is the sweet pleasure time1 this ,spring2 wait for ,summer1 ,i will then begin4 ,summer1 with its thick leaves and hazy blue--who would begin at such a time as this to work8 ,autumn--let me enjoy the cool bracing air after ,summer's heat2 soon1 really1 a start shall be made40 ,and so ,november--and all the year's harvest1 and all the year's fruits to be begun1 grown1 matured1 all the year's work crowded into the last thin group of dwindling days4 ,desolate1 indeed1 would the year be then1 and a wild wail of 8,too late60 would sweep with a shiver over the dreary land2 no sunshine now1 no time1 no opportunity1 no inclination1 no power4 ,the sap would be sluggish1 the impulse of growth gone by2 and at last a stolid1 hard frost of indifference and fixed sterility close the sad story of the year4 ,well1 this may be fanciful--yet1 brothers and sisters mine1 that which is fanciful in the year of ,nature1 which always does ,god's work faithfully1 even while it enjoys ,his glad sun and refreshing rain1 and smiles up to ,him in flowers--that which is fanciful applied to the life of the ,year1 is gravely1 heart-touchingly true of many and many a life of ,man4 ,nature1 8,true to her trust1 tree1 herb1 or reed1 ,she renders for each scattered seed1 ,and to her ,lord with duteous heed ,gives large increase3 ,thus year by year she works unfee'd1 ,and will not cease40 ,but1 many among us1 how do we look at this life1 this brief life which ,god has given to each--a life which has so many close analogies with ,nature's year8 ,for what is our short year given us8 ,to trifle away8 or to use in ,god's service in preparing fruit for eternity--wheat that shall be gathered into ,god's barn8 ,the latter1 you will own2 and happy1 if not your lips only1 but your life gives this answer1 too6 ,but how many1 owning the truth of this grave view of life with their words1 deny it with their deeds6 ,yet a little longer--there is time enough4 ,it is now the time for enjoyment--the time for work will come4 ,vain to answer1 8,but if indeed with reckless faith1 ,we trust the flattering voice1 ,which whispers1 #8,take thy fill ere death1 ,indulge thee1 and rejoice1' 8,too surely1 every setting day1 ,some lost delight we mourn1 ,the flowers all die along our way1 ,till we1 too1 die forlorn02 and there is1 then1 indeed1 an unredeemed bareness and desolation without the glow of memory or hope1 in life's ending days4 ,vain to urge this3 even if the words call up a grave look for a while1 the thought is soon shelved till 8a convenient season40 ,and the life1 if not the lips1 of many proclaims--,let the world have my ,spring1 ,summer1 ,autumn2 and after that no doubt a good crop of holiness and heavenly-mindedness will yet be found in the thin last sere days of ,life's year4 ,let the world have the best of the year2 we will spare its fragments and leavings for ,god4 ,to-morrow1 and to-morrow1 and to-morrow1 and ,spring goes1 and ,summer passes1 and ,autumn dwindles1 and the foolish heart begins to discover that it is too late then4 ,for its life is chilled1 its sap gone down1 its fertility exhausted4 ,it is not the time for blossoms now1 or fruit2 habits are fixed1 and effort is paralysed2 often ugly fungi have sprung from the ruins of comparatively innocent thoughtless delights4 ,and this was not foreseen1 nor will men believe it1 although you sadly warn them of it4 ,we read it from the ,bible1 we cry it from the pulpit-- 8,they that seek ,me early shall find ,me40 8,remember now thy ,creator in the days of thy youth1 ,while the evil days come not1 ,nor the years draw nigh1 ,when thou shalt say1 ,i have no pleasure in them40 8,to-day if ye will hear ,his voice1 harden not your hearts40 ,but young and old listen1 and then go home to their ,sunday dinner2 and other talk1 and other interests1 and other thoughts1 dry up the water that had stood in a little pool upon the heart1 but had not sunk in4 ,god's ,spirit could have drawn it in1 but ,his help was not heartily asked1 even if asked at all4 99 99 99 99 99 ,ah yes1 is it not true1 as one writes1 that 8men are ever beguiling themselves with the dream that they shall one day be what they are not now2 they balance their present consciousness of a low worldly life1 and of a mind heavy and dull to spiritual things1 with the lazy thought that some day ,god will bring home to them in power the realities of faith in ,christ4 ,who is there that has not at some time secretly indulged this soothing flattery1 that the staid gravity of age1 when youth is quelled1 or the leisure of retirement1 when the fret of busy life is over1 or1 it may be1 the inevitable pains and griefs which are man's inheritance1 shall break up in his heart the now-sealed fountains of repentance1 and make1 at last1 his religion a reality8 ,so men dream away their lives in pleasures1 sloth1 trade1 or study4 ,who has not allayed the uneasy consciousness of a meagre religion1 with the hope of a future change8 ,who has not been thus mocked by the enemy of man8 ,who has not listened1 all too readily1 to him who would cheat us of the hour that is1 and of all the spiritual earnings which faith makes day by day in ,god's service1 stealing from us the present hour1 and leaving us a lie in exchange8 ,and yet1 this present hour is all we have4 ,to-morrow must be to-day before we can use it2 and day after day we squander in the hope of a to-morrow2 but to-morrow shall be stolen away too1 as to-day and yesterday4 ,god's kingdom was very nigh to him who trembled at the judgment to come4 ,felix trembled once2 we nowhere read that he trembled again40 ,habits are stronger when we are weaker4 ,people forget this1 and imagine that they can cast off fetters that have grown from silken to iron1 and that with force that has dwindled from vigour to impotence4 ,that they can lie fallow all the growing time of life1 and cram clearing1 ploughing1 sowing1 growth1 harvest1 all into the dark1 few1 shortening days of life's decay4 8,a convenient season60 ,ah6 does this mean1 then1 the end of the seasons--the meagre leavings of life's year8 ,is this the season convenient for ,god's work--for the great purpose of our being8 ,is spiritual life likely to be then first lifting up its head1 when all life is fading away8 8,gather up the fragments1 that nothing be lost40 ,this is a command exquisitely applicable to the gleanings of an old age1 whose harvest has been given to ,god3 8,they shall still bring forth fruit in old age02 --not like the old age of the year--for the fruit of this1 at the best1 is hips and haws1 and holly-berries4 ,but can the command ever apply to a life of which the world1 and the flesh1 and the devil have had the harvest8 ,will ,god accept the mere gleanings8 8,autumn departs--from busy fields no more ,come rural sounds1 our kindred banks to cheer2 ,blent with the stream1 and gale that wafts it o'er1 ,no more the distant reaper's mirth we hear4 ,the last blithe shout hath died upon the ear1 ,and harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain3 ,on the waste hill no forms of life appear1 ,save where1 sad laggard of the ,autumnal train1 ,some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain40 ,thus1 when the world's shouts and glee have passed by him1 may we sometimes see the sad late seeker of ,god occupied4 ,sometimes1 not often2 for be it well laid to heart that ,god's enemies seldom leave any gleanings on their fields1 but are busy with careful rake to collect even life's last days4 ,not often2 for settled habits are hardest to overcome2 and when the character and tastes are formed1 there will seldom remain even the hearty wish to alter4 ,not often1 then1 but sometimes1 in later life the worldling1 or the devil's labourer1 turns back with wrung hands and tears--smitten and pricked to the heart by some sharp voice from ,god--and wanders over the bare1 desolate fields in life's chill and fog1 and shakes the dreary boughs2--if perhaps there may be a little handful of corn1 or an overlooked grape1 or any fruit1 that yet may be tremblingly offered to the ,master of the ,harvest1 when ,he comes to take account with ,his labourers4 ,and now the question is1 ,is this late labour1 labour in vain8 8,will ,god indeed with fragments bear1 ,snatched late from the decaying year8 ,or can the ,saviour's blood endear ,the dregs of a polluted life80 ,he will3 it can4 ,if the heart be truly turned to ,him at last1 it will not be turned to ,him in vain4 ,many of my readers will recall a beautiful allegory of servants trading for their lord1 and how one1 late caused to tremble and to turn1 brought at the reckoning-day salt tears and rough sackcloth1 that changed as he bore them into rich stuff and jewels4 ,aye1 a broken and a contrite heart1 if real1 at no time in life will ,he despise4 ,better give the harvest than only the gleanings1 but better these than nothing4 ,it is a base truth that men often only desert the world when the world deserts them4 ,but1 ,i have seen it observed1 there is something very touching in the fact that men thus find that they must turn to ,god at last1 after all1 without ,him1 has disappointed1 and that if they truly turn1 so gracious is ,he1 that ,he will deign to accept the world's leavings4 ,the story of the lost sheep1 of the piece of money1 but chiefly of the prodigal son1 assure us of the truth of this4 ,when he had spent all1 it was1--all his rich patrimony of young powers1 feelings1 hopes1 and after he had even gone after swine's husks1--after he had spent all1 the ,father accepted the empty casket6 ,when the seed-time1 and the ripening-time1 and the harvest-time had passed1 the bare ,november fields and stripped boughs were accepted1 because over them had gathered the mournful mist of true repentance1 and because they were thickly strung with abundance of sorrowful tears6 ,oh1 wonderful love1 not of earth1 but divine6--,god deigns to prize what earth has thrown away6 ,therefore let those who seem even settled on their lees1 fixed in the ways of the world or of sin1 let them tremble exceedingly1 but let them not despair4 ,if they will1 they yet may4 ,let them cry to the ,helper1 let them retrace the path with tears1 gleaning as they go a scattered rare grain here and there1--redeeming the time1 although the evil days have come4 ,there is ,one for whose perfect merits the harvest of the saint and the handful of the sinner shall alike find acceptance2 and though 'tis best to 8sin not10 nevertheless1 8if any man sin1 we have an advocate with the ,father1 ,jesus ,christ the righteous40 ,let none presume1 however2 for the gleaning commonly goes the same way that the harvest has gone4 ,and it were base indeed1 designedly1 to set apart only life's leavings for ,god's share4 ,oh1 rather let those who can give life's whole broad year to ,god6 ,too late1 too late6 ,this1 if the year had postponed its work1 must be the sad burden of the winds' wailing over its desolate and weed-strewn fields4 ,but it is a thought to humble the heart1 and bring tears of shame and gratitude into the eyes1 that no human life with which ,god's ,spirit is still striving need take that bitter wail for its own4 ,too late to love ,god8 ,nay1 be assured that1 if it be love1 it shall be as tenderly1 gladly welcomed as the dawn of the lonely white ,christmas rose on the bare ,winter beds4 8,for love too late can never glow2 ,the scattered fragments love can glean1 ,refine the dregs1 and yield us clean ,to regions where one thought serene ,breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below40 ,illustration ,,under ,,bare ,,boughs4 ,illustration ,december is here--one of those mild cheery days1 however1 when you can hardly realise that the boughs are indeed bare1 and the beds flowerless1 and the ,spring birds far away2--one of those days which tempt you out into the garden1 to saunter and loiter there1 and look at the patches that will be snowdrops soon1 and to think longingly of leaves where you had before naturally and as of course acquiesced in the canopy of bare boughs2--a day on which you--at least ,i--do not care to go beyond the garden4 ,to me it seems a peaceful1 and far from gloomy1 churchyard4 ,like a spire that tall1 ancient1 ivy-clothed spruce-fir stands out of the shrubbery2 here1 near it1 the gay laburnum tresses lie buried2 here the pink apple-blossom crumbled into dust2 each round bed along the lawn is sacred to the memory of some choice rose2 the violets sleep under that high wall--the lilies1 tall1 white1 stately1 but dead and gone--claim remembrance from each side of the walk2 the geraniums1 verbenas1 heliotropes1 petunias1 have their cemetery in those dark beds on the smooth sward1 and each flower has some spot specially or generally consecrated to it4 ,the memory of my old friends and companions has a tender charm for me1 and ,i look at the stripped rose-twigs1 and at the brown mould where the flowers were1 with a faint halo of that feeling which is keen at the heart1 when we pace among the mounds that hide the dust of friends4 ,there is promise everywhere1 ,i know1 and the naked twigs are strung with germs of future leaves1 and there are next year's flowers sleeping at the heart of the rose4 ,but ,i rather cling to any relic of the past1 than care just now to look forward2 and ,i hail this lingering arrested bud with the buff-yellow petals1 or this half-shattered pure white blossom1 as belonging to the sweet array of the dead flowers4 ,true1 ,i accept this cluster of the winter-cherry1 leaning forward on to the path1 an orange globe in a golden network2 and the unfolding buds of the ,christmas rose1--as being a link between the past and the future4 ,but my thoughts slant backwards now1 as ,i look upon the setting sun of the year2 nor am ,i1 in this mood1 regarding it from the point that it will rise again all fresh and new to-morrow4 ,no1 ,i am not now concerned with the lovely wealth of leaves and flowers1 the new year's dower1--so soon all spent1--so soon all spent2--,i am now of a mind to muse under the 8,bare ruined choirs1 where late the sweet birds sang40 ,let me sit down under this network of sycamore and chesnut boughs1 while the faint patches of pale sunlight move about me on the rank and drenched1 yet ungrowing grass2 let me sit down under the bare boughs1 while the brown1 wet1 marred leaves huddle by the side of the garden seat1 and under the barred plank that serves as my footstool4 ,i dare say my old and unfailing friend will soon come and perch near me1 his lover1 and match the sad cheery gleams of sunlight with sad cheery gleams of song4 ,bird of the mild dark loving eye1 and quick quiet motion1 and olive plumage1 and warm sienna-red breast2 bird of the soft song1--passion subdued now to tenderness1 hope that has sunk to patience1 eagerness that is merged in tranquillity1--faithful bird1 whose every tone and motion1 familiar and loved1 seems to fit the ,winter heart as well as the ,spring fancy1--those fervent1 passionate songsters of the ,spring1 that now are flown1 they never drowned to my ear thy quiet song of peace2 no1 not even in the days when the nightingale's thrilling utterance made the world as it were full of the unsubstantial beauty of a dream4 ,and so now ,i feel a sort of right to the calm and comfort of thy tranquil1 unfailing utterance1 when the evanescent dream has passed away1 and the disenchanted world stands naked4 ,thus1 while you are young1 ,o my friends1 and all the boughs are clothed1 and all the birds are singing1 and your heart makes answer to the loveliness and the music1--do not disdain1 then1 to listen to and to heed that quieter voice which tells1 in an undertone1 very beautiful1 if attended to1 of the love of ,god4 ,your heart1 if you knew it1 cannot really afford to dispense with it when all the woods are loud1 8and all the trees are green40 ,and if you did hear and heed and love it then1 ah1 how exquisite1 how refreshing1 how more than cheering the faithful notes appear1 as you sit meditating under a pale winter sky1 and looking at silent1 leafless boughs1--and the songster draws nearer to you then1 finding you alone6 99 99 99 99 99 ,well1 let me1 ,i say1 sit me down on this garden seat1 under these 8bare ruined choirs10 and hail the one little chorister1 whose quiet1 modest song ever seems to me to compensate for the absence of all the rest4 ,the dewdrops twinkle about me in the drenched grass1 groups of brown toadstools cluster here and there1 and wax-white fungi straggle away in a broken line2 there is a scarlet gleam of hips in the rose-bushes under the shrubbery1 and of mountain-ash higher above them4 ,it is ,winter1 but nature has not forgotten to stick some sprays of ,christmas about her bare pillars1 and to twist them in devices about her arches1 that run up around me into this groined roof above4 ,the first thing that we all should muse about1 under the bare boughs1 would be1 ,i suppose1 the leaves that once clad them4 ,ay1 even if1 under the full shading foliage1 we never thought to give them an upward glance of gratitude1 love1 and admiration4 ,but they are gone1 and what was taken as a matter of course is valued1 now that it is missed4 ,there is repining as to the desolation of ,winter1 and this from those who did not consciously enjoy the ,summer4 ,illustration ,i cannot reproach myself on this score4 ,i have loved and learnt by heart every shape and development1 from the first vivid light of green to the sombre sameness of hue1 and then the rich variety that dispersed this2--all this growth1 and attainment1 and decay have ,i heedfully and affectionately noted1 during the space which separated last year's bare boughs from these4 8,a million emeralds break from the ruby-budded lime40 ,yes1 ,i saw that1--and ,i watched the juicy foliage deepen1 and the thin maize-coloured strips of flower chequer the darkening full mass1 and change the picture into 8,the lime1 a summer home of murmurous wings40 ,then those curved chesnut boughs near the grass--,i detected the first fresh crumpled gleam1 bursting from the brown sticky buds1 until all over the tree1 as in an illumination1 8,the budding twigs spread out their fan ,to catch the breezy air40 ,and so ,i watched them into milky spires1 and swarthy green globes1 that grew brown1 and fell1 and burst threefold1 lying among the heaped leaves1 such a picture1 with the white lining and bright nut6 ,the beech1 changing from soft silky fledging of its boughs into hardier green foliage1 and afterwards becoming a very mint1 each branch 8,all overlaid with patines of bright gold02 and so subsiding into a sparer dress of sienna brown4 8,the pillared dusk of sounding sycamores40 ,the brave oaks1 soon passing out of their ,chaucerian attire1 8,some very red1 and some a glad light green10 and now all gnarled and knotted1 and only clutching still a wisp of pale dull dry leaves here and there3--all these1 be sure1 have had their meed of attention and of regard from me4 ,and so ,i sit under the bare boughs with no remorseful if with some regretful feelings4 ,but still1 ,i say1 who can look up at the stripped branches in the ,winter without sometimes giving fancy and memory leave to clothe them again with the fair frail dreams and hopes and enjoyments that1 though they were evanescent1 yet were beautiful1 and that1 though passing away with the ,summer of ,time1 yet no doubt have influenced the ,eternal growth of the ,tree4 ,yes1 sometimes it will be graceful1 and at least not harmful1 to let memory wander back into the days of childhood and of youth1 and bid the frail and inexperienced foliage cover the branches again with that rich but short-lived beauty3 8,old wishes1 ghosts of broken plans1 ,and phantom hopes assemble2 ,and that child's heart within the man's ,begins to move and tremble40 ,aye1 there they are again1 for a moment1 shimmering in the sunlight and in the shade1 8clapping their little hands in glee40 ,but we start1 and they are gone4 ,and1 instead1 how clearly we may see the blue ,sky through the stripped boughs6 99 99 99 99 99 ,i remember1 some time ago1 sitting under some sycamore trees1 near the sea-side4 ,of course those trees are all bare now1 but the leaves were then at the fall4 ,it was just at that time of the year when all the sweeping in the world will not keep the lawn tidy1 and every gust littered it with the crisp1 curled leaves4 ,amid this surely advancing decay there was1 however1 a pathetic effort towards renovation and new life4 ,the year could hardly yet quietly acquiesce in the truth that its once exuberant power of growth was over1 and that it must give in to stagnation increasing to decay4 ,the like of this we may trace in the human year3 in the faded ,beauty2 in the worn-out ,author and ,wit2 and there is always a sadness about the sight4 ,under the nearly black leaves some very yellow-green ones were clustering upon the lower shoots2 a late frond or two bent timidly amid the burnt and battered growth of the fernery2 autumn crocuses came like ghosts upon the rich moist beds1 but fell prone with an overmastering weakness2 one gleam of laburnum drooped1 and two white clusters of pear-blossom tried to ignore the heavy mellowing fruit2 and some frail crumpled bramble-bloom appeared among the blackberries2 tenderest and most touching1 but wildest and most abortive endeavour1 a primrose1 too pale even for that pale flower1 started up here and there out of the long draggled1 ragged leaves4 ,i know that many days ago winter must have frightened away all this frail gathering1 the more easily and suddenly1 because of their weakness and timidity4 ,but ,i took pleasure in watching and moralising upon the impotent yet graceful struggle4 ,and then1 ,i recall1 ,i sat down under the trees1 much as ,i do now1 and in much such a day4 ,the flickering spots of faint sunlight moved slowly on the sward3 the day was calm1 after a wild windy ,summer4 ,it was cool for ,autumn as this is warm for ,winter1 and so the two days were near akin1 except for this one difference1 that the leaves were mostly still upon the trees4 ,they had begun in good earnest to fall1 but they were still left in considerable numbers upon the boughs4 ,and ,i fell1 after some unconscious watching these leaves1 into a fit of musing upon them4 ,there was a peculiarity about them all which caught my attention4 ,let me set down1 under these bare boughs1 some of my thoughts at that time4 ,it can be done the less unkindly now that that generation of leaves has all1 some weeks ago1 fluttered away4 ,the peculiarity was this4 ,the trees being within the scope of many contending and fierce and unremitting winds1 there was not upon any twig1 that ,i could see1 one single perfect leaf4 ,perhaps a young one1 just born1 and to die almost as soon as born1 might keep somewhat of its intended shape4 ,but those that had endured the fierce winds and the heat and the rain and the blights1--ah1 how shattered and scarred and stained they were6 ,some marred out of any trace of the intention of their birth2 rent and beaten into a sorry strip1 hardly to be called a leaf at all4 ,but even the best were defaced and disfigured1 spotted and imperfect4 ,now sentiment about these leaves would1 obviously1 be extremely ill-placed4 ,but my thought traced in these battered masses of the sycamore a picture of this life of ours1 until the trees almost became a mirror1 in which ,i1 with the myriad race of much-enduring men1 seemed to be exactly reflected4 ,not one perfect leaf2 many so shattered and stained and marred4 ,so beaten out of that pattern to which ,god had designed them4 ,some with hardly the very least trace of that ,image in which mankind was at first moulded4 ,most with little to remind us of it4 ,but1 saddest of all1 it seemed to me1 there was not one1 not even the best1 which would bear close inspection4 ,not one but1 even if the shape were somewhat preserved1 had yet some ugly scar or hole or crack2 not one perfect1 no1 not one6 ,and so it is1 that we are in truth fain to accept for our idea of a good man here1 merely that one who is least defaced and disfigured4 ,the wise among men1 what is he1 but only one not quite so foolish as most others4 ,the kind1 only one that is less often cruel4 ,the dutiful1 and obedient1 only one that is at least and at best inadequately trying among the gross that are utterly careless1 to fear ,god1 and to regard man4 ,how negative most of our goodness is1 and the qualities whose possession inspires our fellow-men with admiration6 ,a good son1 a good husband--this surely only means one who is not bad1 undutiful1 unjust1 unkind4 ,and yet who could lay claim to either title1 nor exhibit some1 yea many1 flaws and spots8 ,and for positive goodness--ah1 well1 if it were not for the utterly marred and ragged growth with which we are surrounded1 there would be little fear1 surely of any1 such as are we1 laying claim to the possession of that here4 ,great and good men8--,rent and shattered1 rent and shattered2 and if in comparison with the shreds about us1 we trace in ourselves some hint of the original shape1 how often we must then think1 8,i was more in shelter1 lower down on the tree10 and how little inclined shall we be1 contemplating sadly our own stains and clefts1 to think superciliously and pharisaically of those mere strips that1 growing on the higher boughs1 seemed the prey of every rough wind that blew4 8,safe home1 safe home in port6-- ,rent cordage1 shattered deck1 ,torn sails1 provisions short1 ,and only not a wreck40 ,this seems the most that the best can say4 ,and that this is so1 appears to me sad4 ,god's hand is not shortened1 that it cannot save2 and ,i puzzle about this long and universal history of successes which are but half-failures4 ,inveterate as is the evil of our nature1 vast as has been its fall1 yet1 ,i ask myself1 is there any limit to the stores of ,god's grace8 ,and1 with such an armoury1 ought the fight to be so sorry1 only just not a defeat8 ,i know we cannot attain2 ,i know that perfection must fly before us1 and ever elude our grasp1 in this state4 ,i know1 by a guess1 that the nearer we seem to it1 in the view of others1 surely the farther we shall1 in our own view1 appear to be behind it1 the more vainly striving after it4 ,and ,i know1 nevertheless1 that the soul hungry and thirsty for righteousness shall have even here some daily bread1 to satisfy just the most restless gnawing of its desire1 and that hereafter it shall fully feast1 and be satisfied1 at the ,marriage ,supper of the ,lamb4 ,but what distresses me is this3 that even truly good men are often1 if not always1 so disappointing4 ,you were awakened to the loveliness of ,christianity1 and yearning for sympathy and advice2 you sought one of those ideals which seemed1 to hope and fancy1 sure to be embodiments of it--and how often a chilling want of gentleness1 or patience1 or tenderness1 closed up the heart's opening blossom6 ,or carrying some opportunity for serving ,christ in the person of a poor member of ,his ,body1 to one who1 you felt sure1 would1 at least1 meet you with kindliness1 if unfortunately other calls precluded aid3 how often a cold manner or a chilling snub disappoints and damps you6 ,there is frequently too much bloodless1 abstract faith1 where you expected warm human interest2 and wounded and hurt and baffled1 you betake yourself to the only perfect sympathy1 that of ,god4 ,there is hardness1 where you had taken for granted ,christ's tenderness would be found2 there is bitterness1 where you had counted upon ,christ's badge of love 7,st4 ,john xiii4 #ce72 there is pride1 even1 where you had never dreamed of finding anything but absolute humility4 ,there is anxiety about worldly matters1 where you had pictured a perfect1 restful trust in ,god2 carefulness and trouble about many things1 where you had looked forward to seeing at last the calm sitting at the ,saviour's feet4 ,there is irritability1 and fussiness at trifles1 where you had dreamed that things of eternal moment would alone have greatly moved3 there is1 upon the whole1 disappointment1 where you had looked for the realisation of that ,ideal which you possess1 and after which you did not wonder to find your own weak self vainly toiling4 ,the winds and the blights seem too much for poor human nature1 that will not draw1 as it might1 upon ,divine grace2 and upon every branch that we examine1 there is not a leaf that is not sadly marred and imperfect2 no1 not one4 ,i know this must be1 in a measure1 in this wingless1 fallen state4 ,i know that in the sight of ,god and of angels1 yea1 of our own selves1 if we have at all really learned what goodness is1 the best of us are but weak buffeters of those waters of evil in which many around us are drowning4 ,still1 without taking an ,angel's point of view1 might not our light1 at least before men1 shine a little more brightly and consistently1 and not be made up of mere alternations of spasmodic flares and dimness or darkness8 ,must there be so many spots of inconsistency1 so many rents of surely elementary and avoidable unloveliness2 so many high places not taken away1 even though ,god be served somewhat in ,his ,temple2 such marring flies making even genuine and precious ointment to stink8 ,oh1 ,i often think that in this world and in this day1 there lies a great opportunity unclaimed6 ,when we see the powerful influence which even a broken and unequal attempt at service1 at fulfilling the mere elements of our duty to ,god and to man1 exerts upon a world where it is the rare exception even to attempt earnestly1 then ,i think1 what might not a perseverance beyond the first steps 7and ,god's grace knows no stint71 what might not a steady advance towards perfection work in this sceptical1 critical1 anxious1 weary world8 ,this world narrowly watches for flaws1 and1 finding them1 strengthens itself in its carelessness and godlessness4 ,but if compelled to acknowledge a reality1 a fulfilment of those theories which it has come to consider as scarcely meant1 quite impossible1 to be reduced to practice2 if forced to acknowledge a sterling goodness1 human and yet ,divine1 which stands the searching tests by which men try profession2 it will then fall vanquished before it1 and1 in many things1 surrender itself to the influence of a goodness alike strict1 gracious1 and glad4 ,if the good man set sentinels at all sides of his life1 and not only at one or two chosen posts2 if he were ever trimming his lamp1 seeking and pouring in more oil2 not letting any slovenly black fungus grow on the wick1 and dim part of the flame--how much might a few such bright and steady lights do in reproving the darkness1 and bringing out sister gleams6 ,how might we1 thus rebuked1 instead of resting proud of our sickly glimmer1 set to work in good earnest1 with watchfulness and prayer1 to mend our flame1 until the noble rays of the lighthouse1 and the clustering lesser lights beneath1 might lure some that were driven and tossed homelessly upon the treacherous1 troubled seas4 ,now the lights often go out when they are wanted1 and the beacon is dark just when a despairing look was cast towards it2 and so the dreary1 hopeless course is renewed4 ,a perfect man must be kind and wise1 patient and loving1--not one whose life shall make the worldling sore and resentful1 but shall rather make him sad and longing1--not one who boasts to be a 8man of prayer10 but forgets to be a man of love1--not one who makes ,faith the cuckoo nestling that edges out ,charity1--not one too much absorbed in devotion1 and even divine and religious contemplation1 to enter into the difficulties1 and wants1 and cries1 and doubts1 and struggles of those beneath the mountain which he is ascending4 ,he must be one of a universal kindliness1--of an always ready sympathy for any feeling which he perceives to be real1 howsoever it find no echo in his own heart2 one ever just1 generous1 forbearing1 forgiving2 ever ready to stop and to descend to raise the fallen2 firm and fixed in principle1 but tender and gentle in heart2 speaking the truth1 but speaking it still in love2 severity against sin never swamping yearning for the sinner2 never base or mean in things large or little2 always ready to suppose the best of others2 never vaunting1 never puffed up2 not easily provoked2 thinking no evil2 rejoicing with the joyful1 weeping with the sad2 hard only upon himself2 bearing all things1 believing all things1 hoping all things1 enduring all things4 ,never giving others to understand that he has already attained1 or is already perfect2 not counting himself to have apprehended1 but pressing toward the mark4 ,alas6 it is true that men are mostly content with a very low standard1 and if they seem to themselves and others to have attained that1 easily rest there2--and the great opportunity passes away ungrasped4 ,torn leaves1 tattered leaves1 at best marred and imperfect1 not one approaching perfection1 not one without a flaw4 ,ah1 yes1 one1--and one only4 ,how glorious the thought that in ,christ1 born into the world1 and taking our nature upon ,him1--in ,christ1 the ,seed of the woman1--this our poor human nature1 tattered1 torn1 and defaced1 is exalted into absolute and eternal ,perfection4 ,all the fiercest storms and blights and heats attacked our nature in ,him1 but attacked it in vain4 ,the most minute and scrutinising examination can here detect no least speck1 or swerving from the ideal of symmetry4 ,in ,him we see what we long1 vainly it seems1 to be4 ,in ,him we see that towards which ,he would exalt us1 if we will be exalted1--that which we may in a sense attain1 if we will be perfected4 ,and so at last we turn from sad contemplation of innumerable greater or less failures1 and dwell restfully and hopefully upon the only and all-sufficient perfect ,one4 ,to be like ,him when ,he shall appear1 oh1 glorious hope that ,he has given us6 to awake thus in the ,spring of the ,next ,year1 and this in a ,land where there are no blights1 nor colds1 nor heats1 to mar that shape4 ,but let us remember1 that having this hope1 we should even now be purifying ourselves1 even as ,he is pure4 ,but here a burst of little ones comes into the garden1 anxious for my leave and help to cut boughs of the holly and the box to clothe the rooms for ,christmas1 and to divert thoughts of the bare boughs that stand without4 ,and it is well that my musings should thus be interrupted1 and should thus end4 ,among the bare branches of the saddest thought there may still be found warm-berried evergreens1 planted by ,god's love here and there4 ,and all that tells here of ,death and ,winter1 tells of that which is temporary and evanescent1 now that the ,,life has come into the world4 ,even the cold stripped trees and the buried flowers1--there is hope in their death1--and how much are we better than they6 ,and thus the ,poet whom ,i quoted above goes on to thought of that ,spring from the contemplation of the rending winds and stripping ,winter here3 8,safe home1 safe home in port6-- ,rent cordage1 shattered deck1 ,torn sails1 provisions short1 ,and only not a wreck4 ,but1 oh1 the joy upon the shore1 ,to tell our voyage perils o'er6 8,the prize1 the prize secure6 ,the athlete nearly fell1 ,bare all he could endure1 ,and bare not always well2 ,but he may smile at troubles gone1 ,who sets the victor garland on40 ,well1 ,i must muse no longer1 ,i see1 but give up myself to the will of the children4 ,come along1 then1 and let us make all bright and cheery at this joyous season4 ,tall sprays of thick-berried holly2 golden winter cherries1 laurel1 and yew1 and box2 ay1 and if you will1 ,cyril shall climb the old mossy gnarled apple-tree1 and bring down a branching bunch of that pale-green1 ,druid-loved parasite1 with its berries like opal beads4 ,in this happy time the children may well claim to have their 8time to laugh10 and to rejoice2 and the elders may look on or join with kindly geniality4 ,yea1 we may say1 8,it is meet that we should make merry and be glad2--for this our earth was dead1 and is alive again2 and was lost1 and is found40 ,laugh and be happy1 therefore1 at the ,christmas time4 ,only in enjoying the holiday1 let not its etymology and true meaning be altogether lost sight of4 ,and remember that it is only the thought of the ,spring of ,eternity that can take away the sadness from the contemplation of ,time's bare boughs4 ,illustration ,,london3 ,,robert ,k4 ,,burt1 ,,printer1 ,,wine ,,office ,,court1 ,,fleet ,,street4 ,transcriber's ,notes ,punctuation1 hyphenation1 and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book2 otherwise they were not changed4 ,simple typographical errors were corrected2 occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained4 ,ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained4 ,text uses both 8chesnut0 and 8chestnut02 both retained here4 ,some illustrations intertwined with the text4 ,that appearance has been followed in versions of this e,book capable of such visual presentations2 in other versions1 the illustrations precede the text4 ,however1 when the illustration included the first letter of the first word of a chapter1 that letter has been repeated here as part of the text4