e of uplifted
prayer, hearing the ripple of the spring or the bird's song among the
thickets, his heart rising in ecstasy upon the holy music, upborne by
the grave organ-thunders, speaking sometimes out of a full heart of the
secrets of God, would lead a life that would be shepherded by his Lord
in a green pasture; led by waters of comfort and in paths of
righteousness, with a table indeed prepared. Such a life is apt
nowadays to be viewed contemptuously by the virile man, by the
practical philanthropist; but it is such a spirit as this that produced
the Psalms, the Book of Job, the Apocalypse. It is a type of religion
that even those who base their faith upon the open Bible are apt to
despise and condemn; if so, their Bible is not an open one, but sealed
with many seals of ignorance and dulness. Such a life should be full of
energy, of faith, of purity. It should speak to those that had ears to
hear in secret chambers, even though it did not cry from the
house-tops. In this stupid and hypocritical age, that mistakes money
for wealth, excitement for pleasure, interference for influence, fame
for wisdom, speed for progress, volubility for eloquence, such a life
is despised, if not actually condemned.

Yet such lives might break from underground, in a place of greensward
and bushes, among the voices of birds and the mellow murmur of bells,
even as the fountains themselves spring forth. In these bustling days
we are apt to think that streams have no work but to turn mills and
make light for cities, to bear merchandise, to sweep foulness to the
sea; we forget that they pass through woodland places, feeding the
grasses and the trees, quenching the thirst of bird and beast, that
they sparkle in the sun, gleam wan in the sunset, reflecting the pale
sky. Oh, perverse and forgetful generation, that knows better than God
what the aim and goal of our pilgrimage is; that will not hear His
murmured language, or see His patient writing on the wall! That in
teaching, forget to learn, and in prophesying, have no leisure to look
backwards! It is we that have despised life and beauty and God; it is
we that make graven images, and worship the fire till we cannot see the
sun, who pray daily for peace, and cast the jewel in the mire when it
is put in our foolish hands.

And after all, though we shelter our lives and seclude them as we may,
we have all of us a heavy burden to bear. These mouldering walls, these
soaring towers, the voice of