How true, in
life, we said, are the sunshine and shadow. The paths of ease
and self-indulgence are full of mortals because they wind and
diverge from the way of truth, leading to lower and more easily
attained levels. But up on the mountain top no dissatisfied
throng stirs up the dust and we feel that joyous exaltation of
spirit which comes to those who climb a little nearer heaven.
In the park-like space in which we find the Crawford House, how
quiet and beautiful all things are! Towering all around are
lofty peaks as if to shut out the beauty from the rest of the
world. We are not artists, so we sit down in this quiet-retreat
and let Nature paint the picture. The breath of the pine and
birch fills the place like incense. The softly sighing pines
with the distant waterfalls are singing their age-old songs. The
evergreens are marshalled in serried ranks, spire above spire,
like a phalanx of German soldiers clad in their green coats,
their spiked helmets gleaming in the evening light. But they are
pushing on to "victory and peace," and each soldier with aeolian
melodies marches to his own accompaniment while the evening
breeze softly thrums its anthem of divine love. We wished our
lives might be pierced by the mystery of their gleaming javelins
that we too might learn their lessons of strength, endurance and
noble aspiration.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290