AN UNDISCOVERED ISLAND. 189 



him. Our ideals are God s realities. We build 

 the new worlds of our knowledge out of the dust of 

 worlds already swinging in space ; the stately 

 homes of our imagination rise on foundations of 

 the common earth. Prospero s island was made of 

 common soil ; flowers, trees, and grass grow on it 

 as they grow about the homes of work and care. 

 The same sea washes its shores which beats upon 

 the coasts of ancient continents ; over it bends 

 that same sky which enfolds ail the generations of 

 men. Prospero s island is no mirage, hovering 

 unreal and evanescent on the far horizon ; no im 

 palpable phantom of reality floating like some 

 strayed flower on the lovely sea of dreams. It is 

 as solid as the earth, as real as the soul that fash 

 ioned it. No miracle was wrought, no law violated, 

 in its making. Beautiful, true, and enduring, it lies 

 upon the waters ; a haven for men in the storms 

 that beat upon the high seas of this troubled life. 

 That which is strange and wonderful about it is the 

 music which forever hovers about it ; that which 

 makes it enchanted ground is the sound of voices 

 sweet as the quietness of sleep, the vision of clouds 

 ready to drop unmeasured riches ! An island solid 

 as the great world out of which it was fashioned, 

 but sweet with heavenly voices and sublime with 

 heavenly visions such is the island of Prospero s 

 enchantments. 



And such are all true ideals, dreams, and aspira 

 tions. They have their roots in the same earth 



