Music of the Wild 



I smile as a summer storm sweeps unbroken over 

 their field to emphasize my assertions. 



Then men must seek shelter and stand helpless 

 while a stout hickory they thought could weather 

 such conditions alone is wrung to ribbons. The 

 great oak left because of its value is stripped of 

 its heart, their stock falls dead, their barns and 

 homes ascend in smoke or their crops are beaten 

 down with the storm or carried away with the wind, 

 and their buildings demolished. Blest and benefi- 

 cent is most of the music of nature. But when 

 there is a storm, and the earth trembles, the heavens 

 appear to open before our eyes; w r hen the wind- 

 harps shriek, and the big bass-drum rolls its thun- 

 der, all other notes are hushed and forgotten. 

 When nature presses the bass pedal and plays for- 

 tissimo we acknowledge the grandeur and irresist- 

 ible power of the storm. And we see its beauty 

 also. No other picture equals the splendor of 

 mountains of black massing clouds, the white flare 

 of electricity, the falling sheets of glistening water. 

 Most of us enjoy a storm with palpitant exulta- 

 tion, although it is one musical performance that 

 seldom gets an encore. But there are times when it 

 teaches man that if he had left a few acres of for- 

 est in the middle of his land, and a border of trees 

 around the edge deep enough for a wind-break, 

 he would have saved his summer's labor, his home, 

 and provided music and shade for the highway. 

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