Milford chronicle., 1906-10-19

/ bed of hleir leaves. lneY WOulu heNSl
have then stand in a uniform of spot
less white. like grim soldiers with their
bayonets Of ice as sharp pointed as
| Roman spears. They would never nave
the wagon wheels sink hub deep IN
mud or the robins and the thrushes fly
away from the New England hills to
/ the land of the flowers They would
always have their orchards heavy laden
/ with fruits and their lawns covered
with grass. and their gardens crowded
| With incense waving flowers, and their
wheathelds with their ripened grain.
making the valleys look ike banquet
hai OF gold. and the blue heavens un-
| blackened by one dark cloud. The sun
for them would send forth a never
ceasing radiance oh, why should we
have the rain? they cry. why do
the December winds come to make our
teeth chatter ard our blood to freezer
Why do we have the spring freshets
wash out our roads and sweep away
our country bridges: Why all this dis
order and confusion in the natural
world? No man can worship God in
drilling fog or be truly happy when
he has to hug Il fire in Il house which
has to be Theoretically sealed to keep
out the winters biting blasts" Thus
we hear the weather pessmists com
plain when the country roads are i'm
passable with snowdrifts, and the ice
has to be broken in the drinking
troughs. and the twinkling stars are
snufcd out by the black robes Of
shrieking tornado, and midnoon by an
eclipse Of the sun is changed into the
darkness of midnight.
Bad weather "A Blessing.
But in the light of my text, are not
atmospheric disorders a blessing? Are
not the frosts and the raindrops and
the soft white quilts of snow flung over
our lawns and the spring freshets bene-
factors instead of curses? l enter the
silent American forests in January.
There / find everything lifeless and
still Here and there l may see the
track Of a doe or a wild rabbit. There
| may hear once in awhile a squirrel
chattering and scolding at me. But for
the most part the paths of the woods
are deserted and everything is still. l
20 up to one of the grand old trees
and pat its sides and sympathetcally
say: Poor fellow! How cold you must
be. How you must long again to be
lressed in your beautiful robes Of
green. How bitter you must feel at
these blizzards which chill you and
stop your sap from flowing, as they
are now trying to CONCEAL my blood by
freezing it in my veins But, much
to my surprise. the Old oak is not salts
fed with my sympathy mo. no.
man." it answers sharply. "The frost
is not my enemy. but my friend 1t
comes to me as a lover and puts its
white arms about me and says: Tree
I want thee to live a hundred years.
I want thee to grow thousands upon
thousands Of leaves. But in order to
do this I must husband thy strength.
| must give thee an annual rest. |
must enrich the soil where thy roots
are buried. Trust me. Believe me. l
am thy friend. for the deeper l pile the
snowbanks about thy trunk the richer
the food thou shalt have to live upon
when the warm summer sun comes
back from its journey on the other side
Of the equator and kisses thy cheeks
The frost is my friend and not my enc
my" When the tree speaks thus, in
stead Of condemning a winter blizzard.
| thank God for the winters cold as
well as the summers heat.
Not II LOafer.
"You miserable, lazy loafer!" cried
the peasants angry wife to the stran-
ger brooding at her fireside. did
not tell thee l would give thee thy
dinner if thou wouldst watch that it
did not get burned? Now by thy neg
ligence thou hast spoiled everything"
'Ts true that the man who was sit
ting fy the peasants fire had neglect
ed the task the peasants wife set him
to do but was he a lazy, contemplate
loafer? That man was the fugitive
king of the English throne. That man
was Alfred the Great. He may have
been blind to the operation of the peas
ants fire. but those smOldering embers |
suggested the dream of the flame Of
liberty he was soon to ignite. He was
dreaming. like Moses. of the people he |
was to lead and the country he was !
to rule and the mighty kingdom he |
was to establish. which would be a ref !
uge to all the downtrodden who would |
come to its shores. Do not grumble, |
0 wife. because thy husbands thoughts |
are sometimes winging their fight a |
thousand miles away Do not COM |
plain. o mother. because that daugh- |
ter is neglectful of the little things |
when she is reaching up for the higher. |
When Cardinal Chigi told the great |
Cardinal de Retz that for three years |
he had done all his writing with one !
pen and the pen was still as good as |
new. Cardinal de Retz came to the con- |
clusion that his brother cardinal was |
a man of very small mental caliber. My |
friends, in your mental life live for |
something higher than the point Of |
pen. Struggle, strive, push. Turn, if |
your study into very bed
aTnon vol X.