.\lex.\nder] the messenger 75 



Oh! you shall not think of rest 



Till the arrows from your breast 



Are out- torn, and with the fleet- winged singer laid; 



Then shall you take 3'our way 



When the twilight veils the day, 



To the sweeping trees, where sleeps the gentle maid. 



There give him liberty 



Let the feathered one go free. 



Oh! sisters bid him hasten to her hand; 



Bid his bursting throat outpour 



All the sorrow that you bore. 



Since she fled afar, to dwell in Spirit-land. 



"No people should be forbidden the influence of the forest. No child 

 should grow up without a knowledge of the forest; and I mean a real forest 

 and not a grove or village trees or a park. There are no forests in cities, 

 however many trees there may be. As a city is much more than a collection 

 of houses, so is a forest much more than a collection of trees. The forest has 

 its own round of life, its characteristic attributes, its climate, and its inhabi- 

 tants. When you enter a real forest you enter the solitudes, you are in the 

 unexpressed distances. You walk on the mould of years and perhaps of ages. 

 There is no other wind like the wind of the forest ; there Ls no odor like the 

 odor of the forest; there is no solitude more complete; there is no song of a 

 brook like the song of a forest brook; there is no call of a bird like that of a 

 forest bird; there are no mysteries so deep and which seem yet to be within 

 one's realization." 



The Holy Earth by L. H. Bailey. 



