Some people are born with a vital and responsive energy. It not only

enables them to keep abreast of the times; it qualifies them to furnish

in their own personality a good bit of the motive power to the mad

pace. They are fortunate beings. They do not need to apprehend the

significance of things. They do not grow weary nor miss step, nor do

they fall out of rank and sink by the wayside to be left contemplating

the moving procession.

Ah! that moving procession that has left me by the road-side! Its

fantastic colors are more brilliant and beautiful than the sun on the

undulating waters. What matter if souls and bodies are failing beneath

the feet of the ever-pressing multitude! It moves with the majestic

rhythm of the spheres. Its discordant clashes sweep upward in one

harmonious tone that blends with the music of other worlds--to complete

God's orchestra.

It is greater than the stars--that moving procession of human energy;

greater than the palpitating earth and the things growing thereon. Oh!

I could weep at being left by the wayside; left with the grass and the

clouds and a few dumb animals. True, I feel at home in the society of

these symbols of life's immutability. In the procession I should

feel the crushing feet, the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and

stifling breath. I could not hear the rhythm of the march.

Salve! ye dumb hearts. Let us be still and wait by the roadside.



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