“ The mountain up which the devil took our Master, and up which he takes us, is bathed in purple; in its rocks gleam jewels, its dust is the dust of gold, in its clefts spring flowers, and from its crest is seen the vision of kingdoms and the glory of them. Things, principles, maxims, amusements, relationships, creeds, ideals, utterly base and vile, are through the power of imagination purged into the lily’s whiteness, perfumed with the violet, steeped in the color of the rose. ”

“ The scientist has touched the wild aster, and it has become the chrysanthemum. He has touched the black tulip, and it has become a flower of many hues and quadruple size. He has whispered to the little field-daisy, and it has become the Shasta daisy, that waves in the fields like a bunch of women’s hats. He has touched the wild sloe, and it has become a luscious plum. He has touched a bitter orange, and, lo! it has lost its seed, doubled its sweetness and quadrupled its size. And to-day the whole world is on tiptoe of expectancy. ”

“ In the shadow, unseen, keeping watch above his own, is the genius of the inventor. The earth gives iron, the sheep give their wool, the soil gives the dyes, the steel gives the shuttles, the spinner gives his fingers, but Arkwright and Jenner explain the warm cloth against the snow and chill of winter. Nature is a loom, the days and the nights are shuttles, the sunbeams tint the texture, forests and mines, herds and flocks furnish the threads, and the cloth of purple and gold is brilliant with towns and cities—but God is the weaver of the web. ”

“ In the hour of success, let not pride vaunt itself, while vanity looks down upon the crowd, exclaiming, “Why did they not work as I did? Why did they not have courage to launch out into the deep? Why did they not fling their plans as a whaler his harpoon, or a hunter his spear?” Well, because God and your fathers made you the child of special good fortune, through unique gifts of body and of mind. Why did not the poor and unsuccessful do as you have done? Why does the turtle-dove not soar like the eagle, and lift its stroke against any enemy? ”

“ He touched the wood, and it became a wagon; he touched the ore and it became an engine; he touched the boughs and they became the reeds of an organ; he touched the wild animal, and it became a burden-bearer for his weary feet; while his intellect turned the stone into geology, and the stars into astronomy, and the fields into husbandry, and his duties into ethics. When the flint and steel meet, something beyond either appears—a tongue of flame. And when man and nature met, something new emerged—art, industry, ethics, cities and civilization. There is nothing great in nature but man. ”

“ How big is a man, anyway? Well, he is smaller than an elephant, and an elephant is smaller than a mountain, and a mountain is smaller than the world, and the world is a mustard-seed compared with the sun, and the sun itself is a mere mote in the dust cloud of spheres that stretches out through the universe beyond the reach of thought.
Coleridge said bigness is not greatness. So while mountains and worlds are bigger than men, man can remove mountains if not worlds. It is not mere size that counts, but power and worth. ”

“ The fruit guards the seed until it is mature, then the fruit goes to decay that the seed may be released; the seed gives up its life that a new tree may come. What a glorious parable is this: life for life, the old dying for the new; every tree in the orchard, every grain-stalk in the corn-field, every dusty weed by the roadside living for others and ready to die for others. The doctrine of unselfish love and of sacrifice comes to us fragrant with the odor of ten thousand blossoms and rich with the yellow fruitage of ten thousand harvests. ”

“ Those clouds that drape the setting sun, and form lofty mountains and shimmering seas, making a landscape in the sky so beautiful that no painter on earth could reproduce it; those clouds that charm us with their beauty, if we were in the midst of them, would be merely like the drenching rain of an April day, without beauty, without charm. And those starry heavens which are to us all of the earth a subject of endless delight because of their beauty and their incomparable grandeur, are not in the least what they appear.—Robert F. Horton, Christian World Pulpit. ”

“ How seldom do we find a man who can speak the truth, and speak it in love. Yet there are some things that harshness can not do. In February the clods are hard, the seeds dead, the roots inert, the boughs leafless. Now let nature speak in terms of power. She lets loose the north wind, to smite the branches; she beats the bare clods with hail and snow. In a tempest of fury she commands the earth to awaken. But power is impotent; not a root stirs, not a seed moves. ”

“ Then something rouses such a mind, and at the touch of a magic wand its slumber is broken. Some hint drops like a seed into its prepared soil, and the mind becomes so renewed and vitalized that henceforth it scarcely seems the same. This was precisely the history of Gibbon’s intellect. The moment when his imaginative sympathy was touched with the thought of the past glory and present degradation of Rome, was the moment that freed all the latent powers of his genius, as ice is thawed by the sudden burst of summer warmth. ”

“ How many, too, have sunk into the deep waters of the black river and been floated on to the ocean of eternity, for very paralysis of hope when the evil hour was upon them and they had just wetted their feet on the brink! They could, and they would have stept back to the solid shore; but they had no courage for the attempt, no energy to strike out to the land. The waters closed over their bowed head, and they sobbed away their breath in the very supineness of terror, the very lethargy of hopeless fear. Death is like everything else—a foe to be fought, a wild beast to be kept at bay. ”

“ Contending with the globe, we are like Jacob wrestling with the angel. The fight is long and hard amid the mystery and the darkness, and the great Power seems reluctant to bless us; but the breaking of the day comes, and we find ourselves blest with corn, wine, oil, purple, feasts, flowers. Ah! and with gifts far beyond those of basket and store—ripened intelligence, self-reliance, courage, skill, manliness, virtue. ”

“ How is it, then, that out of the hard soil of the Puritan thought and character, out of the sterile rocks of the New England conscience, have sprung flowers of poetry? From those songless beginnings have burst, in later generations, melodies that charm and uplift our land—now a deep organ peal filling the air with music, now a trumpet blast thrilling the blood of patriotism, now a drum-beat to which duty delights to march, now a joyous fantasy of the violin bringing smiles to the lips, now the soft vibrations of the harp that fill the eyes with tears. ”

“ Life is a road where we camp for a night on a journey to the golden gate and the setting sun; a traveler who sets up his tent at dark does not plant corn or put out a grapevine, if when the morning comes he expects to pull his tent down and march on. Men are born upon the shore of one ocean; by traveling lightly and never losing a moment, and marching bravely on, through forest, over desert, mountain and river, the traveler can reach the other ocean in time to catch the little boat that slips out into the dark, and sails out of sight with God alone. ”

“ Then in the eastern sky God hung His orb of light, and silently by that invisible pull, and with its secret voice it called to the waves of salt, and drew back the briny flood with its mire and filth, that ebbed away, and lo, the little spring flowed on, fed by the pure fountains on the hillside far above the ocean’s brine. And the soul’s life comes down from the mountains, where its hidden springs are in God. Aspiration, hope and love gush on forever pure. ”

“ Sunset splendors linger but a little while; spring blossoms are scattered by the winds while we watch their unfolding; and autumn leaves soon fade and fall and dissolve into forest mold; the dull landscape glows for a time with supernal splendor, giving us a foretaste of the glory that shall be revealed; the wind passes over it and it is gone. For the leaves there are other and higher uses than to enrobe the branches with autumnal tints. They live and die to serve God in the mysterious economy of life. It is so with human destiny ”

“ What cowards we are when dominated by the seen. We dare not affirm anything beyond the reach of the eye, the sound of the ear, the touch of the finger-tips. But the beauties we see are only the reflection of the beauties that are, like Pluto’s artizans in the cave, catching only the reflected light from the realm above, the music we hear, the merest jingle of the melodies divine, the things we touch, the superficial, mechanical, material side of reality. ”

“ The legend says that the city’s life goes on as before down beneath the waves. The fishermen, when in calm weather they row over the place, sometimes think they can see the gleaming tips of the church-spires deep in the water, and fancy they can hear the chiming of the bells in the old belfries, and even the murmur of the city’s noises. There are men who in their later years seem to have an experience like this. Their life of youthful hopes, dreams, successes and joys has been sunk out of sight, submerged in misfortunes and adversities and has vanished altogether. ”

“ When you go down into the valley and the shadow, you will need a light. In that long journey down into the darkness of death you will travel alone. And here is a lamp that will light your path and bring you out of the chill and the damp and the dark into the morning, and the dawn shall be followed by day and the day shall deepen into high noon, the noon of God’s heaven. ”

“ Science tells us how the bird-music, which is one of nature’s foremost charms, has arisen out of the bird’s cry of distress in the morning of time; how originally the music of field and forest was nothing more than an exclamation caused by the bird’s bodily pain and fear, and how through the ages the primal note of anguish has been evolved and differentiated until it has risen into the ecstasy of the lark, melted into the silver note of the dove, swelled into the rapture of the nightingale, unfolded into the vast and varied music of the sky and the summer. ”

“ She drew so near to her teacher that her hand could touch eye, ear and lip. Before her teacher came to her, existence seemed like a dense fog and a great darkness, while her very soul cried out, Light, light! But when her education began, the way grew clearer and the truth plain as the “light of the teacher’s love shone upon her.”
There are men who are spiritually blind. They are shipwrecked mariners at sea in a dense fog. They are without compass and have nothing stable from which they can take their bearings. But when Christ comes into their lives their heart-cry for light is answered. ”

“ That which we feel at the sight of an edifice, the artist has felt a hundred times in contemplating the shifting curves of a hill, the bold edge of a haughty peak, the immensity of an even plain, a ground hollow, or gently undulating sheet of water which loses itself in the mists of the horizon. All the effects produced by architecture are only an interpretation of natural ones. ”

“ BIBLE, LIVING ON THE
We never fully realize the value of the Bible till it becomes our very life. The way to deal with the Bible is not merely to study it or to meditate upon it, but actually to live on it, as that squirrel lives on his beech-tree.
A preacher, one day, resting under a beech-tree, pondering on the divine wisdom that had created it, saw a squirrel running round the trunk and up the branches, and he said to himself, “Ah! little creature, this beech-tree is much more to you than it is to me, for it is your home, your living, and your all.” ”

“ Here I am a young man. I have grown up in the Christian faith, and am happy in it. Would you advise me to give it all up and come over to where you stand, without God, without faith, and without hope?” “No, young man,” said the old agnostic; “when you put it that way, I can not advise you to drop your religion and faith. Keep them and be happy.” Duncan retorted: “Don’t you see you are standing on a rotten bridge that will break down, while I am standing on a solid bridge? Your heart belies your head, and you admit that your arguments are empty words.” ”

“ What with the dinner-bell, safety yard bell, school, factory and jail bells, small cupola spring-bells, safety electric bells, not to forget baby’s coral and bells, bell-rattles, last reminiscence of the extinct fool’s cap and bells, and fool’s wand, with its crown of jingling baubles, we seem never to hear the last of bells. Bells are the landmarks of history as well as the daily ministers to our religious and secular life. The bell’s tongue is impartial and passionless as fate. ”

“ Through the music of the forest and the harmonies of the falling waters, he hears, at first, far away and hardly audible, then ever nearer and clearer, the voice of the city he deserted, and to his manhood’s spirit that voice speaks with a charm which overcomes the woodland’s spell and in another day he is back again, back in the old street, to the old work, to the ever dear old city. ”