THE HEART OF THE WOODS. 65 



Nature is all absorbed in the vast cares of her 

 maternity.&quot; 



But while I walk and meditate, letting the forest 

 tell its story to my innermost thought, and recalling 

 here only that which is most obvious and superficial 

 (who is sufficient for the deeper things that lie like 

 pearls in the depths of his being ?), the light grows 

 dimmer, and I know that the day has gone. I re 

 trace my steps until through the clustered trunks 

 of the trees I see once more the green meadows 

 soft in the light of sunset. As I pass over the 

 boundary line of the forest once more, faint and far 

 the song of the thrush searches the wood, and, 

 rinding me, leaves its ethereal note in my memory 

 a note wild as the forest, and thrilling into momen 

 tary consciousness I know not what forgotten ages 

 of awe and wonder and worship. 



