The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1908-02-22
For "THE UNION
IN THE sTARLIG HT.
By GEORGE E. TACK.

How very fair and tranquil are
many of the nights of winter, when
the silver light silently overspreads
the hills and valleys. Then one may
look out of the window in the early
evening and behold the wondrous
scenes which tempt them to leave the
cheerful light and warmth of indoors,
and stroll afar over the sparkling
frosty fields. Bright is the earth and
radiant beyond description,
"while overhead
| The moon comes stealing thro the window bars,
silver sickle cleaning mid the stars"
Tonight the silver moon hangs all
glorious in the blue vault, and the
darkness is arrayed in cleaning
texture of light. The hills seem to
be draped with light covering of
snow, and the dark waters of the
stream reflect the trees and stars upon
their placid surface. The stars ap-
pear to twinkle with sort of chilly
delight, as if they are glad to be out
such night as this. Some of the
larger consultations seem to be on
fire, they blaze so brightly, and about
to drop right out of the sky. But
they shall remain forever, held in
place by the One who created them,
the strong Son of God, whose match
less strength upbears the great sys-
TENS afar off and also the creatures
of this little star, his faithful ones,
who shall some day shine with inde
scribable splendor amid the dazzling
courts of the king of glory. The
night is too beautiful for us to remain
indoors, SO we prepare for walk, and
step on into the bright moonlight.
The vast canopy of heaven blazes
with glorious jewels of various sizes
and colors and we, as we behold
them recall the words of the Apostle
Paul, whose knowledge of the heavens
many centuries ago led him to de-
clare that "one star differs from an
-other star-ii1 glory s',H How brightly
they scintillate and gleam in the deep
sky, shot with silver light.
Down the hill, winding along like
a stream of bright metal, flows the
river, and the waters musically re-
peat their story of wanderings to the
old hills, and the hills echo back the
sound as if in approval. Wonder
fully eloquent are the voices of nature
as they speak of the glory of God.
Blind, indeed, must be that man who
fails to behold the acts of creative
God in the marvellous scenes all about.
How like the owlet atheism are they
a certain poet once wrote Of, that
winged its flight toward the glorious
sun shining in heaven above, in all
its splendor, and shutting its eyes to
the sight, cried out, Where is it?"
do not agree with certain Eng
lish poet. that if man could know
the all and in all of the tiny flower
he could know what God is for God
is infinite and unsearchable, beyond
the powers of mans comprehension.
Nor can believe, with the pantheist,
that the modest eyed violet is God,
for if that were true it follows that
the same holds good with everything
else God has created. Because God
created trees, or birds, or animals,
does that act of his make the creature
God? Does the machinery, made
and set in operation by the skilled
mechanic, thereby become part of
the one that made it? l cannot be-
lieve it.
1 may, however, through the won
derful sights and operations of the
things of nature, become better ac-
quainted with the God of nature,
whose command brings forth the flow
ers and unnumbered leaves of the
forest or sends them, by his breath
of frost, into the realm of Things
Perished. And when, in the remote
past, He created the vast worlds above,
Arcturus and Orion and the rest, and
bade them go their long journeys into
the almost measureless spaces of light
they moved, and have since moved,
with unfaltering step, to his melodi-
Gus command Of authority. And as
they march they proclaim with silent
eloquence the God whose name is
love, even as did the fragrant, beauti-
full flowers that lately bloomed along
these hillsides. And right here 1 am
reminded of the words of noted
writer that every rose is an auto
graph from the hand of Almighty
God. The universe itself is an auto
graph of the Almighty"
Down the winding path we stroll,
where the trees throw faint shadows,
and the moonbeams fall like silver
bars. The old trees have lost their
leaves save the beeches, and they pre-
sent a beautiful appearance. Have
you ever stopped to notice the rare
effect of beechwood tree in the win
, ter season, its persistent leaves flood
ed with silver light, and looking like
filigree work. Another sight that
gave us pleasure occurred while stand
ing under an ash tree. We noticed
that whenever we looked through the
branches at the moon it seemed as If
we were looking through long row
of webs, or through large gunbarrel.
The night, with its wonderful
scenes, is one long to be remembered,
and the quiet air carries on its folded
wings the sounds that seem full of
mysterious portent. Down in the de-
serted woods an owl utters its start