The Newtown bee., 1901-03-08

yourself, for many voices seemed to
speak to your soul.
Then there is the stiffness of an
August day. You have
LOOKED OUT ON THE FACE OF NATURE
before thunder storm came. You
have seen the great, black masses Of
cloud pile up on the horizon; you have
listened as the sounds of the world,
one after another, were huShed, and
the stiffness became almost oppres-
Sive; you have heard no birds note, no
leafs rustic, no stir in the pigeon-cote
or the chicken yard, and you knew it
was the lull but preceding the storm.
Think a moment of the stiffness of
the hour of meditation. Jacob went
out into the field to mediate at the
evening-time; and often when the
days busy labors are laid aside, before
the occupations of the evening come
on, there comes to us the opportunity
for quiet thought. Do men think to-
day? They think about pleasure, they
think about business, they think
about other mems affairs; do they
think enough about themselves, who
they are, what they are doing, wha
they are working for. whittier they
are tending, what is the meaning of
life's fitful dream?
Some Ghings, l say, in the world of
nature are perfectly still, but never
face becomes as level as floor, and in
the Southern seas there come the days
OF dreamy haze when nothing seems
SO delightful as to sit for hours in the
flooding sunshine and not think, but
just let stray thought steal into the
mind once in while even as stray
puff of wind now and then fans the
face, yet, though so still the sea may
seem, through it's hidden grottoes
some sound is repeated, along it's
shores some echo is resounding. Your
great ship may stand mOtionless as if
it were some mountain rearing it's tall
not so the ships little yawl that
bounces like cork upon the waves.
Stand upon the shore and press your
toes against line and watch. Each
incoming wave, as it ruSheS up the
beach, will make the sand wet nearer
your feet and 1t last beat you back; or
with every wave the sea receding will
leave you high and dry far up upon
the strand.
The sea is never still. Continually
the waves of the sea do break, break,
break, at the foot of it's cold, gray crags
''What are the wild waves saying?"
They are saying something; and what
is their message to me? 0 sea, what
is the secret of thy moan, what is the
plant of thy pillows as they beat
themselves with hoarse voices upon
the rocks? 0 sea, interpret thy mes
sage. Dost thou have word for me
from thy Maker? What hast thou to
say of His majesty, His power, His
wisdom, His love?
THE SEA IS NEVER STILL.
How myriad are it's voices. Some
times it is a soft, low cadence as the
small waves gurgle and plash against
the sides of the vessel while you listen
stretched out on your bunk: sometimes
it is a tone SO deep and profound that it
seems as if the voice of the Almighty
were mingled in it's roar. The voice Of
the sea is lullaby, the boat becomes
cradle rocked by the giant arms of
the deep. Wagner seems to have
caught all the harsh, wild strains that
ill the music-chamberO Of Nature and to
have blended them in the wonderful
symphonies of his great Oratorios: but
who will bring together the instru-
ments that will collect the strange,
wild harmonies of the deep? Who
will sing it's song? Bring me some
mighty Tyre. Sweep your hand across
all its strings. Awaken all it's sleeping
notes. You will but then have struck
the first few notes in the great diapason
of the deep.
The sea is never still. The ancients
understood this as they represented the
sea god, Neptune, with his trident in