Their amusement and pleasures were simple with no unnatural craving after excitement. The ever changing sky and clouds; the mists on the mountain top; the purple hills and yellow waving grain; the running brook; all these were sources of pleasure and amusement.
The children were sent to the college and and in a short time the strife began, each one trying to excel the other. No more time to study the effect of the misty mountain tops, no more time to listen to the songs of the birds, for here within these four walls were to be found and learned stranger things than they had ever thought of.
It is the one which our Saviour taught while on earth; the one which he taught his disciples to follow; one which requires no trained intellect or cultivated mind, but simply an understanding of the human heart, the human mind, and human passions. In it there are no creeds to learn, no dogmas to understand, but the simple lesson of "Do unto others as you would they should do unto you," which is the foundation of genuine religion.
The religion of humanity is a grand, a noble belief. To remember that each and every one has some claim to consideration, that the way to restrain from wrong-doing is through the human heart. A warm hand clasp and a sympathetic tear will do more to strengthen ones belief in heaven than all the tracts which were ever written. Can we believe in the goodness and loving kindness of God, when we see nothing but coldness and selfishness in our fellow creatures. Ah believe me, the chords of the human heart are very tender and if touched by a sympathetic hand will produce sweet sounds but if touched by the unfriendly hand of coldness and indifference, the sounds will be harsh and discordant.
Pessimism is increasing daily. Any person who takes time to think on the subject can not fail to see that human misery is increasing. With all the boasted advantages of civilization, it has failed to bring happiness into the lives of the people. The more enlightened people become, the more they will recognize the fact that knowledge does not bring happiness. Scientific discoveries do not tend to lighten the load of human misery.
The dreams of happiness and the shadows of disappointments. Looking back upon our past and taking a retrospective glance at years gone by we find our lives have been made up not of great events--but of a succession of disappointments. Each one is haunted by a phantom or ideal which they are vainly striving to reach but seldom attain. The garden of hope seems to bear well; we put forth our hands to reach the fruit and we find we have only the ashes of Dead Hopes.
Some writer has said that there are two classes of people, those who are driven to death and those who are bored to death. There can be no sympathy between the rich and poor. There is an impassible gulf that can never be crossed. The man who has never known the want of money cannot know the sorrows and struggles of the poor.
It is a curious study to watch the faces one meets in a large city or town. Every face has a history, every life a story, if we but take the trouble to read. The face is but an index of the heart, and even in the heart of the happiest the "muffled drums are beating."
Life can not but be pleasant to those who make nature a study. There is a vast book open before us and every one who chooses can open a page. The study will never grow monotonous, for nature is constantly changing and with lavish hand showers upon her children from her great store house innumerable blessings, to those who "see books in running brooks, sermons in stones and good in everything."
Life cannot but be pleasant to those who are fond of books, "our silent companions." They speak a language all their own and we can find companionship for every mood, grave, gay, dreamy, discursive, philosophical and scientific.
A person may be a true artist, who has never made a stroke with a brush. Any one who can blend colors harmoniously or produce effective contrasts in dress, or even in so trivial a thing as fancy work, is an artist. Again, one may paint for years without the slightest knowledge of, or taste for true art. In painting a portrait, something more is required than the mere likeness, something besides pink and white prettiness. Perhaps in two or three centuries an artist is born, one who in painting a portrait produces almost a living, breathing creature; and is able by his magic touch, to paint in the thoughts which flit through the brain; the feelings which move the heart, and is able to read almost the very soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment