I can see the
little bare meeting-house, with the godly deacons, and the grave matrons,
and the comely maidens, and the sober manhood of the village, with the
small group of college students sitting by themselves under the shadow of
the awful Presidential Presence, all listening to that preaching, which
was, as Cotton Mather says, "as a very lovely song of one that hath a
pleasant voice"; and as the holy pastor utters those blessed words, which
are not of any one church or age, but of all time, the humble place of
worship is filled with their perfume, as the house where Mary knelt was
filled with the odor of the precious ointment.
--The Master rose, as he finished reading this sentence, and, walking to
the window, adjusted a curtain which he seemed to find a good deal of
trouble in getting to hang just as he wanted it.
He came back to his arm-chair, and began reading again
--If men would only open their eyes to the fact which stares them in the
face from history, and is made clear enough by the slightest glance at
the condition of mankind, that humanity is of immeasurably greater
importance than their own or any other particular belief, they would no
more attempt to make private property of the grace of God than to fence
in the sunshine for their own special use and enjoyment.
We are all tattoed in our cradles with the beliefs of our tribe; the
record may seem superficial, but it is indelible.
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