248 A Walk from 



anthem. " The street musicians of the heavenly 

 city " were singing one of its happiest hymns out of 

 their mellow throats. The long and lofty orchestra 

 was full of them. Their twittering treble shook the 

 leaves with its breath, as it filtered down and flooded 

 the temple below. Beautiful is this building of God ! 

 Beautiful and blessed are these morning singing-birds 

 of His praise ! Amen ! 



But do not go yet. No ; I will not. Here is the 

 only book I carry with me on this walk a Hebrew 

 Psalter, stowed away in my knapsack. I will open it 

 here and now, and the first words my eye lights upon 

 shall be a text for a few thoughts on this scene and 

 scenery. And here they are, seemingly not apposite 

 to this line of reflection, yet running parallel to 

 it very closely: 



The best English that can be given of these words 

 we have in our translation : " Blessed is he who, pass- 

 ing through the valley of Baca, maketh it a well." 

 Why so ? On what ground ? If a man had settled 

 down in that valley for life, there would have been no 

 merit in his making it a well. It might, in that case, 

 have been an act of lean-hearted selfishness on his part. 

 Further than this, a man might have done it who could 



