The age-herald., 1900-08-12
THE MURMUR OF THE WORLD.

Happy Valley, August Afternoon When thus Creations charms around
 combine,
 Amidst the store should thanlless pride
 repine?
 Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humber
 bosom vain?
 Let school-taught pride dissemble all 1t
 can,
 These little things are great to little man; And wiser he whose little mind
 EXults in all the good of all mankind. Ye glittering towns, with wealth ana
 splendor crown'd;
 Ye fields where summer spreads profusion
 round;
 Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy
 gale;
 Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery
 vale;
 For me your tributory stores combine, Creations heir, the world-the world is
 mine!
 "As some miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts 1t
 OCT,
 Hoards after boards his rising raptures
 fill,
 Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still.
 Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, Pleased with each good that Heaven to
 man supplies:
 Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the sum of human bliss so small: And oft 1 wish, amidst the scenes to find Some spot to real happiness consign'd, Where my worn sou each wandering hope
 at rest,
 May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. But where to find that happiest spot below Who can direct, when all pretend to
 know?'
 That happiest spot is here in the Happy Valley, my beloved.
 Far from the towns turmoil a green garden far-windng spreads and guarded by the green mountains, kissed by golden sun until that bright light passes to give place to the white light that doth empara disc the night; where peace laughs and languishes in lne arms of plenty; where rest and joy find rapture upon grass won drous green; where charity and faith make their dwelling place. and hope and love abide through golden hours and silvern; where fields smile upward to the wood- crowned heights which seem to bend in benediction; where the laughter of little chlldren at play drowns the songs of birds in divine bursts of tenderest and sweetest melody ever yet heard upon the earth here is that happiest spot, here in the Happy Valley! At dawn, under the pale violet shadows strangely mingling with the living green that is stirred by the touch of the morning as if brea thing in the still unawakened slumber of the night; at noon, when the warm air quiyers above the rip pleless deep of life that is stilled under curtains of green, and all the wondrous wealth of marvellous beauty at rest; where the golden hours of afternoon are glori- ous that one could wish all of life after noon and all of afternoon spent in the Happy Valley; yet the fading into the pur- pie twilight creates of the forms of fading hope the gentler wish that it were all twi- light, and .ne passing of twilight to that light that emparadses all things brings wonders and dreams that the heart would hold holy for ever! Thus it is that here in Happy Valley lovingly conflicting passions rise and the worshiper is pleased with the good that Heaven to man supplies. Orchard and field, garden and meadow; the dark cool wood, trysting place of elfs and nymphs naiads and graces; billowy lakes of blossoming grain, and fair, far expanding pastureland sweet isles of con- tent whereon lazy cattle feed, living fig ures of perfect, peaceful satisfaction; fa- vored hooks and corners and dels and knolls a grateful shade hitherward and yonderward where the noblest of all beasts, fo. once under the dominion of good mans love instead of hard mans tyranny romp or browse or doze at will as white and grey and brown hillocks in the farms of plenty and beauty and splendor farm houses rise in peace, sending up opalescent heeting luminous clouds as incense from a blessed altar to the Most High; at far intervals brown-ashen waves of light dust rising to mark the course of the dusty highway, unseen below the level of the green, and telling of ndolent teams driven by indolent teamsters in bearing burdens of plenty not grievous to bear; as resting an arched roof of white-blue the sky seems to bend low downward in saluta- ton, yet completing a mighty temple in which tinkling bells that lull many a fold until with the voices of maidens and men, and childhood's unrestrained and ever ebullient laughter the song of birds the low of k:ne, the bleat of sheep, the billion voices of farm and field and wood and gar den in August, all combine to make mo-