against
time. It appears to him at least not unreasonable that the supreme
interest of an immortal soul should have from a man as much attention
and development as a man gives to his legs, or his muscle, or his wind.

{18}

VII

THE RHYTHM OF LIFE

_Matthew_ xiv. 23.

One of the most striking passages in modern literature is the paragraph
in Mr. Spencer's First Principles, in which he describes the rhythm of
motion. Motion, he says, though it seems to be continuous and steady,
is in fact pulsating, undulatory, rhythmic. There is everywhere
intermittent action and rest. The flag blown by the breeze floats out
in undulations; then the branches oscillate; then the trees begin to
sway; everywhere there is action and pause, the rhythm of motion.

The same law holds good of the conduct of life. Its natural method is
rhythmic, intermittent, work alternating with rest, activity and
receptivity succeeding one another, the rhythm of life. The steady
strain, the continuous uniformity of life, is what kills. Work
unrelieved by play, and play unrefreshed by work, grow equally stale
and dull. Activity without reflection loses its grasp; meditation {19}
without action sinks into a dream. Jesus in this passage had been
absorbed in the most active and outward-going ministry; and then, as
the evening comes, he turns away and goes up into the mountain and is
there alone in prayer.

We need to take account of this law of the rhythm of life. Most of the
time we are very much absorbed in busy, outward-looking activity,
overwhelmed with engagements and hurry and worry; and then in the midst
of this active life there stands the chapel with its summons to us to
pause and give the reflective life its chance. That is one of the
chief offices of religion in this preposterously busy age. Religion
gives one at least a chance to stop and let God speak to him. It sends
the multitudes away and takes one up into the solitude of the soul's
communication with God. One of our Cambridge naturalists told me once
of an experiment he had made with a pigeon. The bird had been born in
a cage and had never been free; and one day his owner took him out on
the porch of the house and flung the bird into the air. To the
naturalist's surprise the bird's capacity for flight was perfect.
Round and round he flew {20} as if born in the air; but soon his flight
grew excited, panting, and his circles grew smaller, until at last he
dashed ful