Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1893-06-26

versation, for many a concert in and out
of doors has been ruined by persistent
takers, and then sit down on messy
bank
Where wild stream with headlong shock
Comes brawling down bed of rock.
And after perhaps a half an hour of in
tense solitude there will be tap Of
beak on a tree branch far up, sounding
like the tap Of a musical baton, and then
first there will be solo, followed by
duet or quartet. and aaterward by doxol-
ogies in all the tree Tops and amid all
the branches, and if you have q Bible
along with you, and you can without
rustling the leaves, turn to the one hun
dred and forty-eighth Psalm of David
and read, praise the Lord, beasts and
all cattle, creeping things and flying
fowl and then turn over quietly
to my text and read, ''By them
shall the fowls of the heaven have
their habitation, which sing among
the branches" or if under the power
of the bird voices you are trans
ported, as when DR.. Morgan played so
powerfully on the organ at st. Johns
that Richard Cecil said he was in such
blessed bewilderment he could not find
in his Bible the first chapter Of Isaiah,
though he leafed the book over and over,
and you shall be SO overcome with forest
harmony thai you cannot find the Psalms
Of David, never mind. for God will
speak to you SO nightly it will make no
difference whether you hear his voice
from the pr.-lted page or the vibrating
throat of one of his plumed creatures.
TEE SEASON TO STUDY NATCRE.
While this summer more than usual
out of doors let us have what my text
suggests, an out of doors religion. What
business had David, with all the advan-
tages of costly religious service and
smoking incense on the altar, to be lis
tening to the chantresses among the tree
branches? Ali he wanted to make him.
self and all who should come after him
more alert and more worshipful amid
the sweet sounds and beautiful sights of
the natural world. There is an old
church that needs to be rededicated. 1t
is older than ST. Paul's or st. Peters or
ST. Marks or ST. Sophia's or ST. Isaacs.
1t is the cathedral of nature. That is
the church in which the services of the
millennium will be held. The buildings
fashioned out of stone and brick and
mortar will not hold the people.
Again the mount of Olives will be the
pulpit. Again the Jordan will be the
baptistry. Again the mountains will be
the galleries. Again the skies will be
the blue ceiling. Again the sunrise will
be the front door and the sunset the
back door of that temple. Again the
clouds will be the upholstery and the
morning mist the incense. Again the
trees will be the organ loft where 1.-The
fowls of heaven have their habitation,
which sing among the branches" St.
Francis d'Assisi preached sermon to
birds and pronounced a benediction upon
them, but all birds preach to us, and
their benediction is almost supernal.
While this summer amid the works of
God let us learn responsiveness. Surely
if we cannot sing we can hum tune,
and if we cannot hum tune we can
whistle. If we cannot be an oriole, we
can be quail. In some way let US dem
onstrate our gratitude to God. Let us
not be beaten by the chimney swallow,
and the humming bird, and the brown
thrasher. Let us try to set everything
in our life to music, and if we cannot
give the carol of the song sparrow take
the plant of the hermit thrush. Let
our life be an anthem of worship to the
God who created us. and the Christ who
ransomed us. and the Holy Ghost who
sanctities us. And our last song! May
it be our best song! The swan was
thought by the ancients never to sing
except when dying.
In the time of Edward " no one was
allowed to own Il swan except he We're
kings son CT had considerable estate
Through 100 or 200 years of life that bird
was said never to utter anything like
music until its last moment came, and
then lifting its crested beauty it would
pour forth Il song of almost matchless
thrill, resounding through the groves.
And SO, although the struggles of life
may be too much for us and we may
find it hard to sing at all, when the last
hour comes to you and me, may there be
o radiance from above and glory set
ting round that shall enable us to utter
a song on the wings of which we shall
mount to where the music never ceases
and the raptures never die.
What is that, mother?' 1.-The swan, my love: |
He is floating down from his native grove.
No loved one no nesting nigh
He is floating down by himself to die.
Death darkens his eye and unplumes his wings, |
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.
Live so, my child, that when death shall come, |
Swanlike and sweet, it may watt thee homeg'
Right IN your
az oqo1e hands, if |
- ~ you'll take it, you |