God forbid we
should not call it beautiful. It is beautiful, but not the most
beautiful.
"There is another life, hard, rough, and thorny, trodden with
bleeding feet and aching brow; the life of which the cross is the
symbol; a battle which no peace follows, this side of the grave;
which the grave gapes to finish before the victory is won;
and--strange that it should be so--this is the highest life of
man.
"Look back along the great names of history; there is none whose
life has been other than this. They to whom it has been given to
do the really highest work in this earth, whoever they are, Jew or
Gentile, Pagan or Christian, warriors, legislators, philosophers,
priests, poets, kings, slaves--one and all, their fate has been
the same--the same bitter cup has been given them to drink."
Another passage of deep and melancholy beauty cannot be omitted
from this volume. It records in language of haunting loveliness the
passing away of feudalism and chivalry and of a thousand years of the
pageantry of faith:--
"The great trading companies were not instituted for selfish
purposes, but to ensure the consumer of manufactured articles that
what he purchased was properly made and of a reasonable price.
They determined prices, fixed wages, and arranged the rules of
apprenticeship.
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