Winter Meeting. 241 



without repeating things I have said before? Picking up the book 

 just named, I read these words, and from them obtained much sat- 

 isfaction. 



"Why should we be more shy of repeating ourselves than the 

 spring be tired of blossoms, or the night of stars ? Look at nature, 

 she never wearies of saying over her floral pater poster. In the 

 crevasses of Cyclopean walls, in the dust where men lie — dust also 

 — on the mounds that bury huge cities, the Birs Nimroud and the 

 Babel heap, still the same sweet prayer and benediction. The 

 Amen of Nature is always a flower." 



In this commercial age poetry is sneered at, sentiment is 

 mocked by ignorance, while "pure, undefiled religion," I wonder 

 where it has disappeared to? "Trade smirches everything it han- 

 dles, and though you trade in messages from heaven," says Tho- 

 reau, "the whole curse of trade attaches to the business." It 

 seems to me that the mint stamp is on most of our theology these 

 days, yet Nature is always the same. It remains sweet and holy; 

 the trees lift their sheltering arms and spread their grateful shade 

 over our sun-parched, ungrateful heads, and look down on us with 

 benign meekness, whispering to us softly, "Children of men keep 

 your faith in God ! Live pure, peaceful lives ; let us teach you pa- 

 tience, and — if we may — true piety." 



The individual devoid of sentiment must be a clod indeed. 

 He who can see no beauty in a tree or a flower, who has no appre- 

 ciation of a gorgeous sunset, a sparkling sunrise, or who does not 

 thrill to the joyous music of the birds in early springtime, might 

 profitably spend much time on his knees praying for the resurrec- 

 tion of his dead soul. 



Live people must always have a real passion for some favorite 

 flower, the perfume of which will bring back visions of the long 

 ago, bright with memory of friends who are known no more on 

 this earth. The rustle of the evening breeze through the leaves 

 will seem like the music of sweet voices, mute in death, which was 

 once to the listener the most ravishing sound in the world. 



Dr. Holmes loved the damask rose, but had an intense passion 

 for the blue hyacinth. He liked the smell of bayberry leaves, the 

 sweet fern and crushed lilac buds. Do many of you know how 

 sweet these are ? 



Mohammed, also, loved the hyacinth, and said, "If I had but 

 two loaves of bread, I would sell one of them and buy a hyacinth to 

 feed my soul." 



H— 16 



