The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1904-07-06

bound for middle Georgia.
Gods own country! The words
clunc 10 me. I have heard them all
My life. The ,.ugi.- .-hman has used
them as be turned his eyes across the
bounding t.a in the direction Of the
white cliffs of old Albion. They have
been uttered in my hearing by the
stolid Teuton as his thoughts few on
rapid wing, to the Fathe-iand Of Ger
many, they have rolled in musical ca
dence from the lirs Of the Highlander
as his thoughts swept him back to-
ward the Bonny Hills Of Scotland far
away; l have heard them softly spoken
by the lean and hungry looking laG-
kee as memory carried him back 20
the frs of Vermont and the hills of
Connecticut, by the North Georgian
as, amid the wiregrass and pine, ne
talked enthusiastically of the red mud
of Barlow, Hall and Cherokee, by the
South Georgian as, standing on the
hills Of Murray and Habersham, he
looked away to where the gophers and
salamanders plowed their daily way
through the yielding fields Of sand.
Gods own countryl Where is that
wondrous land? Is it in some far
avcy country, where the sun ever
shines with the mellow warmth Of
early morning, where the dew with
rainbow robe 10 ever sparkling, where
honey bees, drunken with the perfume
Of the flowers, 60 staggering through
the cir to store their sweets in distant
hive? Is it in some far away land
acrots the sea, some enchanted island
where sronded palms are lifted high
in air, where the breezee, fresh as
though they came from off the field of
new NOV hay on which warm June
rain has just fallen are wandering to
fan sne fevered brow?
Is it in some wonderous cline where
sunsets never fade into tie depths Of
night, and where sun-.sls never de-
generate into garish days, where re-
freshing shades are even found and
limpid waters purl along their sandy
beds to refresh the traveller passing on
his way?
No, Gods country is not there, for
mortal man has never looked upon
land like this, nor will such beauties
fall upon our enraptured eyes until
freed from all the imperfections of the
earth, We mount the everlasting hills
of God within His Beulah land be-
yond the grave.
Is this wopdrous land in some magic
CLINE where all the men and women
are poets who weave their golden
thoughts :nto beautiful words, where
ell the singers Of the earth have been
gatheged together, where whispering
pines aud chanting streams and mur-
muring brooks and singing birds, all
combined make melody that soothes
Inc bense5 iato slumhe-, sweet2 It
cannot be in such o place 90 this for
the discordsnI notes Of sin are ever
heard rolling round the earth, yes on
every little patch Of Paradise the ser.
pent's trail 10 se,n and on every
cleaning earthly joy there rests the
mark Of sorrow's dark and twisted
hand.
But where then is this wonderous
land, Gods own country, Of which we
hear 80 much?
You say it is where the heart is
nesting in the ehadou Of the wings of
love? This will not do, for the heart
is . great deceiver, we dare not trust
it. Love 10 blind and stumbles often
into the ditch Of error. Ihave known
the heart to change an old red hill
into an oasis in the desert Of the
world and to throw o kalo Of beauty:
about the little log cabin in the lane,
around which the pigs we're squealing
for their corn and the noisy
ehanticleer was breaking up the peace
and quiet Of the dawning day. I have
known the heart, in it's longing to
change sn unpainted house standing
stiff and stark beneath the pines in @
bed of hot and cleaning sand, into q
veritable palace surrounded by the
sweetest beauties nature ever lent to
this old earth. Nor can We afford to
trust 20 love to find this wondrous
place, for love, earth born and base,
will lead a man to some shady grove
beside limpid stream where the dis
tillery is opening up its smoking jaws
to blow the breath of hell across the
land, yes, and will tell him that the
place where he can crafty an unnatu-
raj appetite is Gods own country.