Where Town and Country Meet 



happy to be tied down to any conventional 

 music, be it hymn or jig. But it is a song; 

 it has rhythm and changing pitch, and runs 

 its own liquid scale with sweet effect. 



You will find a good many different 

 phrases in this music of water babbling over 

 stones as you go up or down the brook, but 

 it is all the same song, a song of the most 

 distinct happiness and gratitude and light- 

 heartedness, a real child-song, like the sweet, 

 treble humming of a care-free boy or girl. 

 I think the Master of the temple must love 

 to hear this child-choir music. It must be 

 as dear to him as the happy voices of our 

 children to us. 



But come now and listen to the music 

 of another brook, a larger brook, that goes 

 foaming down steep rocky stairways, in 

 mighty columns and rounding cataracts of 

 water. Its grand voice can be heard far 

 through the woods, like the roaring of a 

 great wind. 



If the brook that tinkles over pebbles is 

 the treble among God's singers, this roaring 

 torrent in the bass. Or, if the former seems 

 like a delicate-stringed instrument, this is 

 the mighty organ. It is the grandest voice 

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