knocks loudly. The door is burst open, and sufferers shriek for help: that house is on fire! The flames caught in the dwelling of luxury, where the blind saw them not, but the flesh at length did feel them; thence they spread to the house of slumberers who heeded them not, until [10]
they became unmanageable; fed by the fat of hypocrisy and vainglory, they consumed the next dwelling; then crept unseen into the synagogue, licking up the blood of martyrs and wrapping their altars in ruins. "G.o.d is a consuming fire." [15]
Thus are all mortals, under every hue of circ.u.mstances, driven out of their houses of clay and, homeless wan- derers in a beleaguered city, forced to seek the Father"s house, if they would be led to the valley and up the mount. [20]
Seeing the wisdom of withdrawing from those who persistently rejected him, the Stranger returned to the valley; first, to meet with joy his own, to wash their feet, and take them up the mountain. Well might this heavenly messenger exclaim, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, [25]
thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee,... Behold, your house is left unto you desolate."
Discerning in his path the penitent one who had groped his way from the dwelling of luxury, the Stranger saith [30]
unto him, "Wherefore comest thou hither?"
He answered, "The sight of thee unveiled my sins, and
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turned my misnamed joys to sorrow. When I went back [1]
into the house to take something out of it, my misery increased; so I came hither, hoping that I might follow thee whithersoever thou goest."
And the Stranger saith unto him, "Wilt thou climb [5]
the mountain, and take nothing of thine own with thee?"
He answered, "I will."
"Then," saith the Stranger, "thou hast chosen the good part; follow me."
Many there were who had entered the valley to specu- [10]
late in worldly policy, religion, politics, finance, and to search for wealth and fame. These had heavy baggage of their own, and insisted upon taking all of it with them, which must greatly hinder their ascent.
The journey commences. The enc.u.mbered travellers [15]
halt and disagree. They stoutly belay those who, hav- ing less baggage, ascend faster than themselves, and betimes burden them with their own. Despairing of gaining the summit, loaded as they are, they conclude to stop and lay down a few of the heavy weights,-but [20]
only to take them up again, more than ever determined not to part with their baggage.
All this time the Stranger is pointing the way, show- ing them their folly, rebuking their pride, consoling their afflictions, and helping them on, saying, "He that loseth [25]
his life for my sake, shall find it."
Obstinately holding themselves back, and sore-footed, they fall behind and lose sight of their guide; when, stumbling and grumbling, and fighting each other, they plunge headlong over the jagged rocks. [30]
Then he who has no baggage goes back and kindly binds up their wounds, wipes away the blood stains, and
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would help them on; but suddenly the Stranger shouts, [1]
"Let them alone; they must learn from the things they suffer. Make thine own way; and if thou strayest, listen for the mountain-horn, and it will call thee back to the path that goeth upward." [5]
Dear reader, dost thou suspect that the valley is hu- mility, that the mountain is heaven-crowned Christianity, and the Stranger the ever-present Christ, the spiritual idea which from the summit of bliss surveys the vale of the flesh, to burst the bubbles of earth with a breath of [10]
heaven, and acquaint sensual mortals with the mystery of G.o.dliness,-unchanging, unquenchable Love? Hast not thou heard this Christ knock at the door of thine own heart, and closed it against Truth, to "eat and drink with the drunken"? Hast thou been driven by suffer- [15]
ing to the foot of the mount, but earth-bound, burdened by pride, sin, and self, hast thou turned back, stumbled, and wandered away? Or hast thou tarried in the habita- tion of the senses, pleased and stupefied, until wakened through the baptism of fire? [20]
He alone ascends the hill of Christian Science who follows the Way-shower, the spiritual presence and idea of G.o.d. Whatever obstructs the way,-causing to stumble, fall, or faint, those mortals who are striving to enter the path,-divine Love will remove; and up- [25]
lift the fallen and strengthen the weak. Therefore, give up thy earth-weights; and observe the apostle"s admoni- tion, "Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before." Then, loving G.o.d supremely and thy neighbor as thyself, thou [30]
wilt safely bear thy cross up to the throne of everlasting glory.
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Voices Of Spring
Mine is an obstinate _penchant_ for nature in all her [2]
moods and forms, a satisfaction with whatever is hers.
And what shall this be named, a weakness, or a- virtue? [5]
In spring, nature like a thrifty housewife sets the earth in order; and between taking up the white carpets and putting down the green ones, her various apartments are dismally dirty.
Spring is my sweetheart, whose voices are sad or glad, [10]
even as the heart may be; restoring in memory the sweet rhythm of unforgotten harmonies, or touching tenderly its tearful tones.
Spring pa.s.ses over mountain and meadow, waking up the world; weaving the wavy gra.s.s, nursing the timid [15]
spray, stirring the soft breeze; rippling all nature in ceaseless flow, with "breath all odor and cheek all bloom."
Whatever else droops, spring is gay: her little feet trip lightly on, turning up the daisies, paddling the water- cresses, rocking the oriole"s cradle; challenging the sed- [20]
entary shadows to activity, and the streams to race for the sea. Her dainty fingers put the fur cap on p.u.s.s.y-willow, paint in pink the petals of arbutus, and sweep in soft strains her Orphean lyre. "The voice of the turtle is heard in our land." The snow-bird that tarried through [25]
the storm, now chirps to the breeze; the cuckoo sounds her invisible lute, calling the feathered tribe back to their summer homes. Old robin, though stricken to the heart with winter"s snow, prophesies of fair earth and sunny skies. The brooklet sings melting murmurs to merry [30]
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meadows; the leaves clap their hands, and the winds [1]
make melody through dark pine groves.
What is the anthem of human life?
Has love ceased to moan over the new-made grave, and, looking upward, does it patiently pray for the per- [5]
petual springtide wherein no arrow wounds the dove?
Human hope and faith should join in nature"s grand har- mony, and, if on minor key, make music in the heart.
And man, more friendly, should call his race as gently to the springtide of Christ"s dear love. St. Paul wrote, [10]
"Rejoice in the Lord always." And why not, since man"s possibilities are infinite, bliss is eternal, and the conscious- ness thereof is here and now?
The alders bend over the streams to shake out their tresses in the water-mirrors; let mortals bow before the [15]
creator, and, looking through Love"s transparency, behold man in G.o.d"s own image and likeness, arranging in the beauty of holiness each budding thought. It is good to talk with our past hours, and learn what report they bear, and how they might have reported more spirit- [20]
ual growth. With each returning year, higher joys, holier aims, a purer peace and diviner energy, should freshen the fragrance of being. Nature"s first and last lessons teach man to be kind, and even pride should sanction what our natures need. Popularity,-what is [25]
it? A mere mendicant that boasts and begs, and G.o.d denies charity.
When gentle violet lifts its blue eye to heaven, and crown imperial unveils its regal splendor to the sun; when the modest gra.s.s, inhabiting the whole earth, stoops [30]
meekly before the blast; when the patient corn waits on the elements to put forth its slender blade, construct
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the stalk, instruct the ear, and crown the full corn in the [1]
ear,-then, are mortals looking up, waiting on G.o.d, and committing their way unto Him who tosses earth"s ma.s.s of wonders into their hands? When downtrodden like the gra.s.s, did it make them humble, loving, obedi- [5]