See America First, By Orville O. Hiestand










































































































 -  It seemed not
unlike the breath of the sleeping water, and the spirit of the
silent lake.

Suddenly a melody - Page 176
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It Seemed Not Unlike The Breath Of The Sleeping Water, And The Spirit Of The Silent Lake.

Suddenly a melody that seemed as serene as the mountains and as pure as the lake broke the silence; far up on a wooded ridge a thrush was chanting his evening hymn to the Creator.

It was as if the soul of the quiet lake spoke to us; the spirit that haunts high mountains, clear lakes, shadowy forests, and all that is pure and beautiful in life; its hopes, longings and faith were voiced in that mellow "angelus" of the forest.

We would love to see the twilight linger, but all things must end, and we pursued our way down the winding shore road, already gray with the coming night. Before we said good-night the mister said, "I wonder what eternity will be like?" His comrade spoke with a clearness of speech, declaring a truth that no one could doubt: "Eternity is here and now, and this is our first glimpse into paradise."

Long after retiring the words of George Herbert came and went through memory:

"Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright The bridal of the earth and sky, The dews shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die.

Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; Thy root is ever in the grave And thou must die.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; A box where sweets compacted lie; My music shows you have your closes And all must die.

Only a great and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But, though the whole world turns to coal Then chiefly lives."

CHAPTER XIII

THE ADIRONDACKS

Whoever passes through the Green mountains and arrives at Burlington in the evening of a fair day will he rewarded by one of the most beautiful views of natural scenery the world has to offer. The outlook from the hilltop here is enchanting. Looking westward you see the beautiful expanse of Lake Champlain, dotted with numerous islands that stretch away to the purple wall of the Adirondacks, whose summits are outlined by a bright golden light which slowly ascends and diffuses along the horizon as if striving to linger around the loveliness below. The sun disappears, leaving an ocean of flame where he passes, and the fleecy clouds which swim in the ether look down at their images in the lake. Here you behold the Green mountains, showing majestically against the sky. They are clothed in soft blue veils, as lovely as any that Italian mountains can boast. The highest peaks of the range, Mount Mansfield and Camel's Hump, thrust their outlines like purple silhouettes against their glowing background.

William Dean Howells, standing with a friend on the shore of the Bay of Naples, remarked that he considered one scene in the world more beautiful than that upon which they were gazing - Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks, as seen from Burlington.

Morning came bright and clear; a cool breeze waved the clinging foliage of birch and elm, rippling the lake near the shore and tossing the waves far out on its bosom, which gleamed white along their crests.

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