THE WIND 



WHAT a factor in the making of beauty is the wind! Did 

 you ever think of the wind as one of the invisible brushes 

 of the Divine Artist? That is worth thinking about. The 

 wind has its way, and a wondrous way it is. There are 

 melodies in the wind. There are voices in the wind. Alfred 

 Tennyson had an ear fine enough to catch the wind-voices. 

 When only a little lad he said, stretching his hands in the 

 wind, "I hear a voice speaking to me in the wind." To his 

 friends it seemed a fancy then, but to the literary mind of 

 the world to-day it is an outstanding fact in Tennyson's 

 poesy. We know he heard the wind's voice, and how won- 

 drously he set that voice to music! Well, there are many 

 wonderful things about the wind and the works of the wind, 

 when we look or listen or think. The most of us rush past 

 a thousand orchestras and never hear them. We rush 

 through a thousand galleries hung with wondrous artistries 

 and never see them. We miss the teaching of a thousand 

 teachers that stand along the way of life. 



But what about the wind? I was saying that the wind 

 is a beautifier. That is no fancy, but fact. Your physicist 

 or geologist would tell you that. Or, would they tell you 

 that? Well, that is what I am trying to tell. For one thing, 

 the wind is SCULPTOR. Have you seen its carvings under 

 the edge of the snow-drift? I have seen an overhanging roof 

 of snow made by the wind the north wind and under this 

 snow-roof, on the south side of a snow- wall, a space large 

 enough to shelter a covey of quail, or chickadees, or snow- 



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