The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1908-05-23
WRITTEN FOR "THE UNION"
OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH GOD.
BIT GEORGE e. TACK.


Dear are the memories of boyhood
days spent in the fields, where those
mild golden suns of the meadow world,
beamy ,petaled daisies, ,glowed through
all the days Of summer and faded not
until the rough old winter came and
chilled their hearts with his icy breath.
Often have we rested beneath the
spreading branches of some big oak
tree, amid whose cool, green bowers
the chorjsters of nature sang us songs
that waited us off to dreamland, for
that was slumberous music they made;
"Music that gentler on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes,
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the
blissful Skies"
do not believe that the heart of
the man or woman attuned to the
grand symphony of natures orchestra
can ever grow old. The years bring
their burdens, and hairs that blanch
at the stealthy approach of age, but
let that person steal away, even
though it be but for a day, from the
daily round of labor, and he will find
that the happy memories of youth
will return with an irresistible i'm
pulse that bathes the heart and mind
in their golden glamor. Then he will
look once more across the flower
starred meadows of the past and hear
the cadence of children's voices as
they play i'll the glowing twilight,
ere the somber night spread Its dark
pinions over the village and lanes,
where cleaned the lights from the
homes of boyhood. This sweet-born
morning, unsullied and fair, and
sparkling with pearls that bedeck the
emerald robe of its mother, l hear
with thrill of Joy the threnody of a
free hearted bird. The melody floats
through the fragrant air, and I listen
and my heart joins in the praise that
ascends to the Creator through the
hushed air.
Now hear a shrill call, followed
by drum like roll. It is the music
of the woodpecker, whom call my
fife and drummer boy. His uniform
is black and white, and his cap a
bright red. How the pieces of de
cayed ash wood fly as he drills his
way into the heart of the old tree.
Now and then he stops his work and
plays hide and seek with me around
the tree. Work away, little chap,
I'll not molest you.
Here comes a butterfly across the
light green sea of grass, dipping here
and there into the wind-tossed sur
face. We used to think it very
frivolous creature, but afterwards
learned that as it goes from flower to
flower it carries the pollen which
gives such beautiful variety of col
ors to the bed of flowers. How beau.
tiful are the markings on its wings
the velvet surface, the gold and bril-
liant stripes, and the glowing spots of
red. Surely it is a thing of beauty,
and a quiet helper III the plan of the
Creator.
Yonder is pretty sight, slender,
foaming cascade, over-arched by will
low trees, and for a background a
light rolling hill, gilded by the sun,
and past it runs road, hecked with
sunlight and shadows, far away over
the hill to the horizon. 1t calls up
memories of carriage rides along
winding roads, through sunlit wales,
and down by hillside forest, where
a reckless stream brawls along over
the fallen monarchs of the grove.
How the waters dance and swirl as
they near the cascade, over which
they rush in their mad Joy.
But there is so much to enjoy to-
day. Above US is the marvellous
scroll Of the sky, with its crimson,
and purple and blue clouds, like hiero-
glyphics, wherein may be deciphered
the love message of the great King to
his children in the light of His infal-
lible word. And yonder comes a
great cloud-ship across the tranquil
blue deep, its vast sails far spread to
the winds of the sky, looking just
like one of the old Morse vessels we
have seen pictures of in our school
books. How stately it looks as it
goes its way to some far-oh port along
the horizon.
Down in the meadow the tall light
purple wild flowers stand out in bril-
liant relief against the green robe of
the earth. Aud there on the hillside
bloom yellow flowers in great clus-
tiers like golden trumpets ready to
announce the coming of the silver
frost king. As l stoop to smell them
their breath ascends to my nostrils
like the sweet odor of mellow apple.
Now I hear tinklings of cowbells from
the clover fields, where the trees
throw long, cool shadows in the even
ing, and a placid stream flows under
long rows of maple trees. Now it
sparkles through the open field where
groups of kingly golden rod wave
their bright scepters over the lovely
flowers along the bank.
Here and there are groups of OK
eyed daisies that gaze peacefully at
the blue vault above. Across the
field, along hillside, is a beech grove;
how fair it is, and from the light
columns spring graceful arches,
through which the streams of golden
sunshine pour over the delicate leaves
and fall upon the ground in dazzling