34 A PEEP AT 



murmurs and the rills sing ; and high up in the moun- 

 tain tops, where the naked granite glitters like gold in 

 the sun, where the storm-cloud broods and the thun- 

 der-storms crash, and away far out on the wide wild 

 sea, where the hurricane howls music, and the big 

 wave rolls the chorus, sweeping the march of God — 

 there He brews it, that beverage of life, health-giving 

 water. And every where it is a thing of beauty ; 

 gleaming in the dew-drop ; singing in the summer 

 rain ; shining in the ice-gem, till the trees all seem 

 turned to living jewels, spreading a golden veil over 

 the setting sun, or a white gauze around the midnight 

 moon ; sporting in the cataract ; sleeping in the gla- 

 cier ; dancing in the hail shower, folding its bright 

 snow curtains softly about the wintry world; and 

 weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of 

 the sky, whose warp is in the rain-drop of earth, 

 whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checked 

 over with celestial flowers, by the mystic hand of re- 

 fraction. Still always it is beautiful — that blessed 

 life- water ! no poison bubbles on its brink ; its foam 

 brings not madness and murder ; no blood stains its 

 liquid glass ; pale widows and starving orphans weep 

 not burning tears in its depths ; no drunkard's shrink- 

 ing ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal 



