Then he who has no baggage goes back and kindly binds up their wounds, wipes away the blood stains, and
would help them on; but suddenly the Stranger shouts, [1] "Let them alone; they must learn from the things they suffer. Make thine own way; and if thou strayest, listen for the mountain-horn, and it will call thee back to the path that goeth upward." [5]
Dear reader, dost thou suspect that the valley is hu- mility, that the mountain is heaven-crowned Christianity, and the Stranger the ever-present Christ, the spiritual idea which from the summit of bliss surveys the vale of the flesh, to burst the bubbles of earth with a breath of [10] heaven, and acquaint sensual mortals with the mystery of godliness,--unchanging, unquenchable Love? Hast not thou heard this Christ knock at the door of thine own heart, and closed it against Truth, to "eat and drink with the drunken"? Hast thou been driven by suffer- [15] ing to the foot of the mount, but earth-bound, burdened by pride, sin, and self, hast thou turned back, stumbled, and wandered away? Or hast thou tarried in the habita- tion of the senses, pleased and stupefied, until wakened through the baptism of fire? [20]
He alone ascends the hill of Christian Science who follows the Way-shower, the spiritual presence and idea of God. Whatever obstructs the way,--causing to stumble, fall, or faint, those mortals who are striving to enter the path,--divine Love will remove; and up- [25] lift the fallen and strengthen the weak. Therefore, give up thy earth-weights; and observe the apostle's admoni- tion, "Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before." Then, loving God supremely and thy neighbor as thyself, thou [30] wilt safely bear thy cross up to the throne of everlasting glory.
Mine is an obstinate _penchant_ for nature in all her [2] moods and forms, a satisfaction with whatever is hers. And what shall this be named, a weakness, or a-- virtue? [5]
In spring, nature like a thrifty housewife sets the earth in order; and between taking up the white carpets and putting down the green ones, her various apartments are dismally dirty.
Spring is my sweetheart, whose voices are sad or glad, [10] even as the heart may be; restoring in memory the sweet rhythm of unforgotten harmonies, or touching tenderly its tearful tones.