The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1885-07-22

at the other--snd no light between-the no.
account period of history.
Millions sublime audacity of faith aerates
the ponderous craft of his verse and keeps il
from sinking into the abyss of theological
pedantry.
Our lives are not laid out in vast, vague
prairies, but in definite domestic door yards
within which we are to exercise and develop
our faculties.
Herein is the significance OF the saying
that history repeats itself: 1t does repeat it
self, because it repeats its factors-the men
and women who compose il.
With the attitude and utterance of her
spirit confronting me l cannot allow her
verse to be poetry. She is the racOnteur.
not the Yates; the scientist. not the seer.
The dullest mortal spirit must at times
grope restlessly and expectarkly in the outer
darkness for something beyond. and this
something must exSist, will exsist, in a true
poem.
The mother makes the man. perhaps; but
the wife manufactures him. Sometimes the
wife in her manufacture confirms the making
OF the mother, sometimes counteracts it.
The born poet has no agony in the deliver
ance OF his song. The uttering is to him
that soothing balm which the utterance is to
the reader 1t is weeping, not the tear wept.
that gives relief.
The humility of each of us Is like some
aolian harp constructed by the Master Mu-
stefan, and laid down tcnderly by Him upon
the sea shore, where winds from every quarter
play continually.
Each of us can so believe i'm humanity in
general as to contribute to that pressure
which constantly levers up the race; can sur
round ourselves with an atmosphere OptimiS-
tic rather than the contrary.
Whether men admit it or not. faith in our
selves and faith in our brother and sister hui
manity follow from our faith i'll God, and if
that faith be allowed its full growth will
each win their rightful rank.
Reciprocity, constant and equal. among all
His creatures is the plan of the only maker
OF plans whose plans never fail in the least
jot or title He has reserved TO Himself the
power to give without receiving.
Human history is nothing but one cease
less flow of cause into effect and of effect
into cause. There is nothing but which is
consequent. You and are but the conse-
quents of vast tangle of antecedents in all
time before.
You come from one of George Eliot's
poems as from Turkish bath of latest sci
ence and refinement, appreciative of benefit,
but so battered, beaten, and disjointed as to
need repose before you can be conscious of
refreshment.
HI lHcSt uiiNS VI tDD anu lulChSduu, With
agnosticism rears its stone wall in front of
faith, and writes upon it in black letters the
end-all and the be-all of all knowing, the I'M
movable, we have no need to know where
God is to confirm our faith in Him.
True self-knowledge is never to be come at
by burrowing in the narrow limit of our own
individual thoughts, feelings, and expert
ence. We must, in order to truly see our
selves, stand before the great mirror, human
ity, and, in its all-retiecting focus, behold
our own proper individuality.
What's in a name? A rose by any other
name might smell as sweet; but lily if re-
christened rose, would never refuse the rose S
odor, nor gain, in addition to its own spot
less projections, the deep-hearted sorcery of
that enchanting crumbled wonder, which we
thrill in touching, as if it, too, had nerves,
and blood, and human heart-a rose.
In this scientific age-the age of icono-
clasm-it is greatly good for us to confront
things rich, rare, out-of-the-common things,
above our power to comprehend, beyond our
power TO destroy. 1t is well for us who are
so blind to the rose-color in our daily lives to
be forced to acknowledge its existence in the
imperishable canvas of history; well for u.
so intensity practical as we are to be compel
led there, at least to confront the romantic
and the heroic.
"a picture of Joan of Arc). A little peas
ant maiden, doing lowly service in the cot
tage home at Homremy; a mail-clad maiden,
leading forth her soldiers from the gates of
Orleans: two faithful feet on fagOts at Rouen
q radiant face uplifted to the reckoning skies;
crucifix upheld in shrivelling flame-kissed
hands; a wreath of smoke for shroud. a
wrack of smoke for pail, a heap of ashes,
and-a franchised soul