340 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



saw in flame the most ethereal expression of 

 beneficence and purity. The race has grown 

 older now and we strive to outgrow what we call 

 childish things, yet we get new strength for 

 dwelling in our higher levels of mature thought 

 by dropping back now and then to the primitive 

 customs and touching with smiling reverence the 

 ancient forms of expression. Here in America 

 is the smelting pot of nations and we are uniting 

 once more in one race the scattered children of 

 the Aryan stock. Each child brings as play 

 what was once worship — Saxon, Celtic, Greek or 

 Latin, all uniting again in the Christmas celebra- 

 tion and each bringing his fagot for the lighting 

 of the Yule log, which burns on Christmas Eve. 

 Nor does it matter to us now from what tree 

 that log is cut, though once it did. The ancient 

 Aryans who were forefathers of us all lived very 

 near to nature and all their thought was built 

 upon her moods. Our Christmas tree with its 

 lighted candles and its glow of tinsel ornaments 

 is but a tiny image of their sun tree, which began 

 to grow with the first lengthening of the days. 

 They imaged in this dawning light a pillar of 

 fire like a tree trunk that grew and spread over 

 the heavens, bringing through spring all the 



