THE GREAT SPIRIT


When the spirit swells my breast I love to roam leisurely among the
green hills; or sometimes, sitting on the brink of the murmuring
Missouri, I marvel at the great blue overhead. With half-closed eyes I
watch the huge cloud shadows in their noiseless play upon the high
bluffs opposite me, while into my ear ripple the sweet, soft cadences of
the river's song. Folded hands lie in my lap, for the time forgot. My
heart and I lie small upon the earth like a grain of throbbing sand.
Drifting clouds and tinkling waters, together with the warmth of a
genial summer day, bespeak with eloquence the loving Mystery round about
us. During the idle while I sat upon the sunny river brink, I grew
somewhat, though my response be not so clearly manifest as in the green
grass fringing the edge of the high bluff back of me.

At length retracing the uncertain footpath scaling the precipitous
embankment, I seek the level lands where grow the wild prairie flowers.
And they, the lovely little folk, soothe my soul with their perfumed
breath.

Their quaint round faces of varied hue convince the heart which leaps
with glad surprise that they, too, are living symbols of omnipotent
thought. With a child's eager eye I drink in the myriad star shapes
wrought in luxuriant color upon the green. Beautiful is the spiritual
essence they embody.