THOUGHTS FROM WRITINGS 



SO time advances till to-day, watch- 

 ing the reapers from the shadow 

 of the copse, it seems as if with- 

 in that golden expanse there must be 

 something hidden, could you but rush 

 in quickly and seize it— some treasure 

 of the sunshine ; and there is a treasure, 

 the treasure of life stored in those little 

 grains, the slow product of the sun. 

 But it cannot be grasped in an impatient 

 moment — it must be gathered with 

 labour.—' Nature near London': Wheat- 

 fields. 



RAPT and absorbed in discount 

 and dollars, in bills and mer- 

 chandise, the overstrung mind 

 deems itself all — the body is forgotten, 

 the physical body, which is subject to 

 growth and change, just as the plants 

 and the very grass of the field. But 

 there is a subtle connection between the 

 physical man and the great nature which 



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