ble to the discerning eye, it was also audible to the
attentive ear, listening as one listens at the edge of a field in the
night time to hear the growing of the corn. If all the millions of
leaves had ceased their transpiration, if this flow of life had been
shut off, as the organist pushes in the tremolo stop, the sound of the
summer would not have been the same. Something of the strength and
joy of the summer was in it. Drinking deeply of it the body was
invigorated and the heart grew glad. In it the faith of the winter's
buds and the hope of the spring's tender leaves found rich
fulfillment. Theirs was a life of hope and promise that the
resurrection should come; this was the glorious life after the
resurrection, faith lost in sight and patient hope crowned.

* * * * *

Slender white minarets of the Culver's root, rising from green towers
above the leafy architecture of the woodland undergrowth and reaching
toward the light of the sky, told the time of the year as plainly as
if a muezzin had appeared on one of its leafy balconies and proclaimed
a namaz for the middle of July. Beholding them from afar, honey bees
came on humming wings for the nectar lying deep in their tiny florets.
Eager stamens reached out far beyond the blossoms to brush the bees'
backs with precious freights of pollen to be transported to the
stigmas of older flowers. Playing each its part in the plan of the
universe, flower and insect added its mite to the life and the
loveliness of the summer. From the sunshine and the soil-water the
long leaves manufactured food for the growth of the plant. Prettily
notched, daintily tapering, and arranged in star-like whorls about the
stem, they enhanced the beauty of the flowers above them and attracted
the observer to the exquisite order governing their growth. When the
leaves were arranged in whorls of four, the floral spires were
quadruple, like the pinnacles on a church tower; if the green towers
were hexagonal, then six white minarets pointed to the sky. The
perfect order of the solar system and the majesty of the Mind which
planned it, was manifested in this single plant. So does beauty lead
the way to the mountain tops of truth. By the road of earthly beauty
we may always reach religion and truth is ever beckoning us to new and
nobler visions. That "thread of the all-sustaining beauty, which runs
through all and doth all unite" gently leads us from the things which
are