"You see, old pal, Jerry writes poetry
like the birds sing and brooks flow, just because 't is his nature. I
know lots of his verses by heart an' I love all of 'em, but I like
this about the Silent Places best; listen:
"'He that the great, good thing would know
Must to the Silent Places go,
Leaving wealth and state behind
Who the great good thing would find.
Glories, honours, these will fade,
Life itself's a phantom shade;
But the soul of man--who knoweth
Whence it came and where it goeth.
So, God of Life, I pray of Thee
Ears to hear and eyes to see.
In bubbling brooks, in whispering wind
He who hath ears shall voices find,
Telling the wonder of the earth:
The awful miracle of birth;
Of love and joy, of Life and Death,
Of things that were ere we had breath;
Of man's soul through the ages growing,
Whence it comes or whither going,
That soul of God, a deathless spark
Unquenched through ages wild and dark,
Up-struggling through the age-long night
Through glooms and sorrows, to the light.
The soul that marches, age to age,
On slow and painful pilgrimage
Till man through tears and strife and pain
Shall thus his Godhead find again.
Of such, the wind in lonely tree
The murmurous brook, doth tell to me.
These are the wonders ye may know
Who to the Silent Places go;
Who these with reverent foot hath trod
May meet his soul and walk with God.'"
"Friend Jarvis," said the Ancient Person, setting down his empty
platter and beginning to fill his pipe, "Peregrine was exactly right;
you are a most astonishing tinker.
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