No Matter How Steep The Road Or How Numerous Its Windings No
Fear Seized Upon Us Unless It Was The Fear Of Missing Some Of
Nature's Most Wonderful Scenes.
How often we admired the lovely
Dicksonia ferns with their lanceolate green fronds pointing in
all directions; how many times we heard the melody of the wood-
thrush as evening drew on and the shadowy ravines seemed hushed
and serene as his "angelus" sounded in these vast mountain
solitudes.
Each note was a pearl to string on the sacred rosary
of memory and how often "we shall count them over, every one
apart" and be drawn nearer the Master of all Music! Oh these
vast, immeasurable days, filled to overflowing with sunlight and
fragrance and song! Out here in these beautiful hills there can
be no unbelief, for in a thousand mingled voices, caroling
birds, singing waterfalls, chirruping insects and whispering
breezes is told the story of Divine Love, and dull indeed is the
ear that cannot hear it.
On this famous mountain top we were hailed by a man of middle
age who belongs to that class of men who are constantly
reminding you they would have made good in life if they only had
a chance, despite the fact that many constant toilers find the
places of more educated men who are deceived into thinking their
education would take the place of honest toil. This particular
man doubtless never learned that "all values have their basis in
cost, and labor is the first cost of everything on which we set
a price." The prizes of life are not laid upon easily accessible
shelves but are placed out of reach to be labored for, like the
views one gets of the valley here only after paying the price in
an exceedingly toilsome journey.
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