54 IValks in New England 



that there is no death, but as Carl Spencer 

 apostrophizes : 



Thou angel of the other change unknown, 



With such vague terrors rife, 

 Speak to us in thine own familiar tone, 



And we shall call thee Life. 



&quot; When death takes those we love, then we love 

 death.&quot; And it is for that reason we love it, or 

 may love it, that it is only change to new life. 

 As Mountford writes : &quot; The grace that rises 

 from the earth in many a tree ; the fascination 

 that eddies and murmurs in flowing water, keeps 

 the gazer standing by the riverside ; the beauty 

 that lives along the plain, and draws man s out 

 stretched hands toward itself, as in recognition ; 

 the loveliness that in a valley is around and over 

 man, and embosomed in which he feels unearthly 

 and sublimed ; the dear and fearful beauty of the 

 lightning ; the wild grandeur of a September sun 

 set ; what is in them we shall all feel again, and 

 drink in everlastingly. And it will be a dearer 

 delight than now ; intenser and fuller. For then, 

 O God ! we shall be in thee and of thee, and 

 thou wilt be to us like an ocean of delight, our 

 little spirits being bathed in thine infinite spirit.&quot; 



