PS. 
 
 3515 
 
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 H03 
 
 
Book_.^ikSjS:^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
To Her whose sunny 
 face and heart and soul 
 have made brighter all 
 that is mine, this little 
 book. 
 
The Great Optimist 
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS 
 
 Leigh Mitchell Hodges 
 
 "MITCHELL" 
 
 |Mg| 
 
 Hand Colored and Printed by 
 
 DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 23 East 20th Street, New York 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS. 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 SEP 23 !903 
 
 / Copyright Entry 
 CLASS «U XXc 
 COPY B. 
 
 :J 
 
 b^S 
 
 Copyright, 1903 
 
 By 
 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 
 [The Great Optimist-2] 
 

 >1 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 
 The Great Optimist 
 
 II. 
 
 The Darkened Cage 
 
 III. 
 
 A Spring-Song 
 
 IV. 
 
 Making the Most 
 
 V. 
 
 The Flag 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Ma Brither" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Failure 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Grasshopper 
 
 IX. 
 
 My Friend 
 
 X. 
 
 Thanksgiving 
 
no suddenly tbere 
 waswitbtbeJItidel 
 a multitude of tbe 
 fieai^enly l)o$t 
 praising God and saying^ 
 6lory to God in tbe bidb= 
 est and on eartb Deace> 
 good will toward men* 
 
I 
 
 Is A T before the open fire last night— the eve 
 of this high day — and half-way dreamed again 
 The Story. Among the resting hills of old Ju- 
 dea were the flocks sleep-folded, and under the 
 trees the shepherds guarded them. The little 
 town of the House of Bread was sleeping, too, 
 save in a stable, where a woman lay, and near 
 her a strong man keeping watch. Away to the 
 west Rome slumbered in her glory, and further 
 on beyond the uncoursed seas the dream and 
 hope of future times lay yet unknown. All was 
 quiet and very peaceful in Bethlehem. Then 
 came the first faint cry of one new-born, and 
 that triumphant burst of song from out the 
 skies, and the Wise Men bending low before the 
 Manger, and then the long line of fruitful years 
 which brings us to the present. 
 
 The lesson of that first Christmas needs no 
 retelling, for it repeats itself on each successive 
 dawning of the day. The story of how that 
 Manger was the first throne of the King of 
 Kings can be made no more impressive than is 
 its own simple record. Nineteen centuries have 
 
10 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 shown how it changed the whole course of 
 human acts and thought ; how it brought to men 
 a new conception of life and recast their hopes 
 and their being. Yet how many have ever 
 thought of Him as the Great Optimist! How 
 many realize that the song of the angels was in 
 truth the divine prelude to Hope and Faith and 
 Love — the things that have given us happiness! 
 
 It v/as He who made known to men that 
 pain and want and suffering are but things of 
 the moment — that beyond and above them are 
 peace and joy and life. He it was who turned 
 to the flowers of the field and the birds of the 
 air, and drew from Nature the true lessons of 
 living. From Him came the comforting truth 
 that human fear is the foundation of human 
 woe; that when we have conquered it we 
 have gained the heights of mortal happiness. 
 He it was who, through the most disappointing 
 of human lives, with a cowshed for a cradle 
 and Calvary for a shroud, still held to the better 
 things, and saw through the night the glory of 
 the noontide. If He could hope, on that black 
 hill of the three crosses, what man amon^^ us 
 has the right to despair? 
 
 The highest definition of optimism is hope. 
 The highest hope possible is to be like Him. 
 Consider His life, you who toil and drag and 
 
THE GREAT OPTIMIST ii 
 
 suffer and are weary. No child so poor who 
 was not fairer born than He. No man so low 
 who is not better treated. Yet always of good 
 cheer; always speaking words of comfort; ever 
 loving, merciful and just, even to that most de- 
 grading of deaths. Can we wonder that the very 
 stars of heaven joined in the chorus of that song? 
 Can we wonder at the millions who have clung 
 and are clinging to its far-borne echoes? Can 
 we not do more? May we not on this, His natal 
 day, set high our hopes anew, and rejoicing in 
 Him and in them, put away the fears that have 
 felled us? So long as this ball rolls on in its 
 appointed place among the spheres it shall be 
 the Star of Suffering. So long as winter doffs 
 its white robe to show the gleam of summer's 
 green, there shall be toil a-plenty, and strivings 
 after lost things and wants and loves unsatisfied. 
 But He had all of these to bear, and is it not a 
 privilege that we may be like Him, if only in such 
 wise? 
 
 The skies, the sun, and Nature to her small- 
 est blade of grass are ever repeating that Life. 
 There are clouds and cold winds, but ever 
 and anon are the sunlight and the flowers. 
 There are burdens and sorrows that weigh 
 heavily and would seem to crush, but standing 
 strong in the love of man and the trust of God 
 
12 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 and the hope of a brighter day to come, we can, 
 if we will, climb the long slope in the rarest of 
 happiness, and rest in peace at evening. From 
 out the stable of each life may issue the hopes 
 and joys of Eternity. 
 
 We are human, and as such must we strive 
 on, endeavoring each day to stand a little higher, 
 a little more firmly. We must never lose hope. 
 We must never despair. In the gloomiest hours 
 we must have an ear to that best of the songs 
 of earth, and a thought for that greatest of 
 conquerings — the victory of the Child of Beth- 
 lehem. 
 
 Now, peace on earth, good will toward men, 
 
 With joy, and faith, and love; 
 That, though the way be rough and long. 
 There still is Light above. 
 
or bim who sings in 
 tbe dark tbere is aU 
 ways iigbt— be makes 
 it, and none can sbut 
 it from bim. 
 
n 
 
 DO you know that some birds are taught to 
 sing by having their cages darkened? 
 Then the little things long for the light, 
 and in some way realize they must make a sound 
 that the master of their light and darkness may 
 hear, so they peep a faint note or two. These 
 are always faint at first, but they are always 
 rewarded with a brief space of sun. And at length 
 the small songster comes to know that if it 
 would live in light it must sing, and soon it finds 
 that the faint notes have grown strong and clear, 
 from the continued plea for deliverance, and 
 finally its song is rare and beautiful and the 
 master is willing it should have much light in 
 return for a little singing. 
 
 Are not some of us birds caged in by the 
 limitations of humanity? Is not that cage often 
 darkened by sorrow and disappointment and 
 seeming ill-fortune? Yet how is the Master to 
 learn that we love the brighter, better things? 
 Who but would sing qviih the sun!— but who 
 sings for the sun shows clearly his love of it. 
 And in the first note we attempt— be it ever so 
 
 13 
 
14 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 rude and weak, we gain an ear that is leaning 
 to listen, and a hand that is always ready, lifts 
 the shadow, at least for a little. 
 
 Like the bird, which after many days of 
 darkness and many days of singing itself again 
 into the light, finds its little voice grown strong 
 and sure, we who sing on through our trials 
 and burdening shall some morning find our own 
 voices sweetened and greatened from the long 
 practice. The wavering note becomes steady; 
 the harsh tone gently clear. Then do we know, 
 O men and women, that the shadows of this 
 world are sent but to train the weak voices and 
 fit them for their places in the choir invisible, 
 
 "Of those immortal dead who live again 
 In minds made better by their presence: live 
 In pulses stirred to generosity, 
 In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 
 For miserable aims that end with self. 
 In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 
 And with their mild persistence urge man's search 
 To vaster issues.** 
 
 —George Eliot* 
 
I^EV form thi perfect 
 prelude to God's areat 
 cycle of song -these 
 first days of the earl= 
 test season. 
 
m 
 
 HOW fine are these first spring-like days! 
 The air fairly thrills with the promise of 
 returning life, and the morning prophecy 
 of the feathered wanderers that have come back 
 sounds a cheery prelude to the day's work. 
 Here and there along the open stretches are just 
 the faintest touches of green— the starting 
 strokes of a Master's brush, whose broad canvas 
 shall so soon glow with the beauties of the 
 wakened world. The day lengthens, as if it 
 loved now to linger. The sun is up earlier each 
 morning, that he may miss less and less of the 
 marvelous transformation. And only man com- 
 plains. "Spring-fever.'* 
 
 What a misnomer! Have tired heads and 
 lazy legs and yawns aught to do with a realm 
 springing into life and action! Is there not 
 music everywhere to which he may time his 
 steps and his labor? Has not the Old Mother, 
 once again young, taken her seat at the organ— 
 this great organ, with pipes reaching clear up to 
 the sky and a hundred thousand stops? The 
 south wind is turned on and the Vox Humana 
 
 15 
 
i6 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 pulled out. With a soft touch she tests the 
 treble, and there comes the shrill note of a bird. 
 Then another note is sounded and we have the 
 blithe melody of the lark— not so clear and fine 
 as it will be, for her fingers are a bit stiff as yet. 
 And naturally — how could Nature be otherwise! 
 — she tires after playing a few days, and there's a 
 dull intermission of cloud and rain. But the rest 
 shall only strengthen her, and some morning the 
 great pipes, all agleam with gold, shall give forth 
 the first glad movement of the long symphony, 
 and a thousand stops will help swell the melody, 
 and the flowers will lift their gay heads, and the 
 trees burst into bud, and the concert of concerts 
 begin. 
 
 Let us wake with the flowers and birds, the 
 trees and streams. Let us open our ears and 
 our hearts to the music that is everywhere. Let 
 us lay aside our "winter garments of repent- 
 ance" and be glad with the player of these 
 sprightly measures. 
 
C is not bow much we 
 have, but bow we use 
 it; and every man 
 holds the possibilities 
 of untold wealth with= 
 in his own beind* 
 
IV 
 
 PERCHANCE you prefaced your break- 
 fast this day with an apple — a shiny 
 red one, maybe, or a yellow and juicy 
 fellow. Did you simply pare and eat it, while 
 chatting of the weather, or did you attend some- 
 what more carefully the piece of fruit? Saw 
 you the symmetry of its form, the grace of 
 its curves, the beauty and richness of its color- 
 ing? There were sculpture and painting! Did 
 you smell of it before partaking? No perfume 
 more gratifying! Did you notice how firm and 
 fair was the interior, how curiously the whole 
 was made? There was science, skill. And did 
 you stop to think how but a little while gone, 
 that tasty morsel was a small, frail flower on a 
 slender twig ; then a tiny hard knot of green, and 
 at length a blushing boy of an apple? There was 
 an Infinite Power! So you see how so small a 
 thing as an apple and so common an act as the 
 eating of it, may reveal much that is good and 
 high. 
 
 It is a noble art, better worth cultivating 
 than many a showier one, to make the most of 
 
 17 
 
i8 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 the things that are. The willingness and ability 
 to get out of everything all the good that lies 
 therein, and to apply it profitably is at once 
 helpful and comforting. As with the eating of 
 an apple, there is, in most of the seemingly or- 
 dinary happenings or duties of the day, sufficient 
 of interest and pleasure to make much of little, 
 or sometimes to cover up difficulties and 
 drudgery. 
 
 This very willingness to accept what is, in 
 its fulness, determines poverty and plenty more 
 than do money and lands. It is the determina- 
 tion to derive from such as we have and can do 
 all of beneficence in them, that fills our hearts 
 and souls with a buoyant gratitude for the wealth 
 of our blessings. In truth, it is the cheerful 
 doing of the apparently insignificant tasks with 
 the same enthusiasm which attends us 'in those of 
 vaster moment, that brings to us a full return of 
 peace. He who finds in an apple art, science, 
 knowledge and religion is more to be envied 
 than he who sees in a carving by Michaelangelo 
 only the dollars and cents he paid therefor. 
 
here can be no firm 
 ground for any t>e$$i= 
 mistt so long a$ tbe 
 American flag stands 
 for the principles tbat 
 gave it birth* 
 
V 
 
 THE sun was dropping behind a gray wall 
 in the west-sky. Through a loop-hole 
 in the cloud parapet, one gold gleam 
 shot back into the world. As if trained on the 
 very spot, and there alone, it lighted the folds of 
 a flag floating high over the roofs and chimneys 
 of the city. The red bars of it were made more 
 red ; the white ones took on the ruddy tinge of 
 wounded day, and the stars shone pink against 
 their field of blue — all purpled in that glow. And 
 I thought, as I saw it thus blazoned against the 
 dark sky, how much is wafted to us in the sway- 
 ing of those stripes and stars ! 
 
 It seemed a moment made for prayer. It 
 was almost as if the hand of the Maker pointed 
 a great gold finger at the emblem of His best 
 gift — Freedom. 
 
 We men and women who toil and travail 
 in the shadow of that waving — do we stop often 
 enough to consider its meaning, its guarantee? 
 Is it to many of us more than a bit of color 
 swung to catch the breeze and fittingly finish 
 
 19 
 
20 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 the end of a flagstaff? It must be, and far more. 
 Next to the comforting consciousness of a Divine 
 hand which guides and guards us, that flag 
 should mean peace of mind and spirit. The wish 
 has often come, and still remains, that every 
 American boy be taught to bare his head to that 
 standard, as to a woman. For the respect 
 rightly paid her is a debt to Motherhood, and 
 that Motherhood would count for little were it 
 not extended and enlarged in the Motherhood of 
 an upright nation! 
 
 From trials and hardships, it is well to look 
 up sometimes to that piece of blood-baptized 
 bunting, which daily unfolds its high message. 
 It is well to read in those bars of crimson the 
 story of lives laid down for rights and princi- 
 ples; in those alternate stripes of white, the 
 lesson of peace. We see in that starred square 
 the growing strength and increasing good of the 
 nation. Bear all these no echo of help, no 
 message of hope? Send they no thrill through 
 the being? Can we not find in them food for 
 fairer dreams? And high-built dreams oft end 
 in living things! 
 
mootb and level is tbe 
 road of life if only our 
 burdens are borne in 
 love. 
 
VI 
 
 IAN MACLAREN tells somewhere a sweet 
 stoix. of his native Scotland— that while 
 sauntering along a country lane one hot 
 afternoon, he met a bonnie wee lass, all 
 humped up and red, and puffing with the weight 
 of a chubby laddie she was carrying. 
 
 "Isn't he too heavy for you?" asked the 
 dominie. 
 
 "He's not hivvy, sir," came the reply, with 
 a smile of loving pride; "he's ma brither!" 
 
 How vastly different this old world might 
 be if more of us could or would make brothers 
 of our burdens! Love is the greatest of all 
 lighteners, and that which is borne lovingly sel- 
 dom weighs sorely. Yet the lanes of labor are 
 crowded with men and women who bend and 
 sigh, and grow weary apace, because they are 
 carrying strangers! To them the day's task is 
 only monotonous or galling— there is nothing 
 companionable or brotherly about it. In this 
 spirit too often is it borne. How much happier 
 might the heart be, how much more willing the 
 hands, if place were more commonly given to 
 
 21 
 
22 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 the great thought that even in the humblest and 
 least-seen achievement is hidden a part needed 
 in developing this divinest of dramas! Who, 
 feeling the truth of this within, might not say 
 of the meanest task: 
 
 "It*s not hiwy, sir; it*s ma brither!** 
 
 No man's Scotland is all abloom with 
 heather. In the vales are thickets, and up in 
 the hills, barren and jagged precipices threaten 
 dire things. Times come, I know, when even 
 the loads we carry lovingly, do bear down on 
 us somewhat, and when the lane seems longer 
 than we can traverse. But I know, too— and I love 
 to feel that the world is full of those who are with 
 me in this — that the brightest morning is that 
 which ends a night of unrivaled darkness; that 
 the green of spring never again glows with quite 
 the same charm as in that first blade which 
 pushes upward to the light through the brown 
 blanket of dead leaves. And beyond this, from 
 the record of the years that have been, I know 
 that they who hope to leave this place better 
 for having lived in it, must learn to bear pa- 
 tiently, if not in love, what is here their portion. 
 
 It is only in feeling, in knowing that our 
 part, however small, is essential to the final 
 betterment of things that we can make it truly 
 
THE GREAT OPTIMIST 23 
 
 so. It is only through a brother*s love for that 
 which is given us to carry here that we can 
 have peace and can smile as we go along. The 
 world around may see little and know less, but 
 what does that matter. There is One who does 
 know all, and who measures justly; whose por- 
 tioning should never weigh heavily — for He's ma 
 Brither! 
 
ailure i$ often that 
 moriiinabourofdark= 
 tie$$ wbtcb proceeds 
 tbc dawning of tbe 
 day of Success. 
 
vn 
 
 H 
 
 EAVEN is probably a place for those 
 who have failed on earth." 
 
 There is a strange sound about this, is 
 there not? But let us stop and consider. What is 
 failure? Had you and I been one of that jeering 
 throng that crowded the way to Calvary, we had 
 answered by pointing at the Christ, pale, bleed- 
 ing, and burdened. Had we been near when a 
 neglected beggar died in a little town of Spain 
 on May 20, 1506, we might have said Columbus. 
 If, perchance, we had strayed into Rouen one 
 day centuries back, and there seen a saint-faced 
 woman burning to death, we would have made 
 reply — Joan of Arc. Again, if in the winter of 
 1777 we had wandered into a camp of starved 
 soldiers, freezing in a Pennsylvania valley, we 
 could scarce have hesitated saying, "The cause 
 to which these wretches are clinging." These 
 were failures — lives thrown away, in the estima- 
 tion of their contemporaries among men. But 
 what of Christianity; what of the Americas; 
 of the one woman who has place among the 
 
 25 
 
26 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 greatest; of our own Government? Do you 
 count them failures? 
 
 And do you wonder that we have such say- 
 ings as "Success lies in failure" and "Victory is 
 in defeat?" Perhaps a fuller knowledge of the 
 doings of men in the long line of years that 
 stretch between us and the earlier ages, might 
 remove that wonder and leave us staring in 
 amazement at him who would dare refute such 
 truths. Yet, knowing all this from the actual 
 records of sixty centuries, we still set our stand- 
 ards in fields wholly material and we still strive 
 toward them, not counting the cost ; with an eye 
 only for the possible gain. We do it because the 
 world calls this success. We take the world at 
 its word, without often stopping to think of, or 
 for, our own selves. And the truth is, that suc- 
 cess is not wealth — save of good traits and 
 character. It is not lands and moneys and fine 
 raiment. It never was, and furthermore, it 
 never can be. Nor is it power, position or pres- 
 tige. Nine out of ten times it is apparent failure, 
 and the tenth time it rises from apparent failure. 
 Nine out of ten times the world brands it as use- 
 lessness, or fanaticism, or diseased mentality. 
 But the world does not know! 
 
 It depends chiefly whether you are work- 
 ing for the world's praise or the world's 
 
THE GREAT OPTIMIST 27 
 
 good, how its commendation or its condem- 
 nation is given. But if you will work for 
 the praise of that inner spirit which, for lack 
 of a better name, we call conscience, no pain 
 shall be felt at what the world does or says. In 
 truth, if you have a high and good purpose and 
 honestly try to attain it, you must apparently fail 
 in some measure, because all strength is founded 
 on unseen supports, and the highest tower is 
 that whose base extends the farthest under 
 ground. But mere failure should be the last 
 thing to daunt you. Remember how the oyster 
 mends its wounded shell — with pearl! 
 
be whole universe is 
 a poem, whose pon= 
 derous rhythm and 
 majestic metre be» 
 spealt the author= 
 ship of 6od. 
 
vin 
 
 ONE Wednesday afternoon back in the baby 
 days of the last century, three poets who 
 were friends met together, as was their 
 weekly custom. Before parting, each agreed to 
 write a sonnet on "The Grasshopper," and to read 
 it the following Wednesday. How would you like 
 to have been there when John Keats and Percy 
 Shelley and Leigh Hunt— for they were the 
 friends — read each his fourteen lines ! How would 
 you like to have heard Keats repeat that first 
 line of his sonnet — those immortal seven words : 
 " The poetry of earth is never dead." 
 Sometimes comes the wonder if we realize, 
 when we read the songs of the poets, that around 
 us on every side, and well within our reach if 
 only we put out our hearts, are the very causes 
 for these outbursts of soul! We wander away 
 charmed by the big and the showy, and it seldom 
 occurs to us that in so small and common a crea- 
 tion as the grasshopper is hidden great beauty. 
 We forget that in the crowning of common 
 things we make monarchs. 
 
 For him who can find in some tiny flower 
 or bird, food for a day's study and a week's 
 
 29 
 
30 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 thought, is opened a field of happiness whose 
 confines are well-nigh limitless. He may trace 
 the whole course of time in the study of one 
 daisy, or read the history of the ages in a bit of 
 broken stone. It is not always on the surface, 
 neither is gold nor the diamond, but it is there 
 if one will seek. The world of nature is a great 
 book, open to every one who will turn its pages, 
 and within that book is writ so much of beauty 
 and wonder and helpfulness that the reader is 
 sure to forget the little pains and cares that slip 
 almost daily into life. 
 
 Indeed, "the poetry of earth is never dead." 
 To-day it sleeps under the brown and withered 
 leaves, its sighing bringing to us new and deeper 
 thoughts; to-morrow it is echoed in the crystal 
 chorus of a thousand birds, or nestles in the color 
 and fragrance of a field of bloom. To-night it 
 sways us with its thunderous chansons ; at morn- 
 ing it pours over earth a flood of golden hopes. 
 Now it is an epic, in the bended figure of one of 
 the world's unfortunates ; again, a sonnet in the 
 sweet grace of a woman, or a rippling ballad in 
 the laugh of a fair child. All the poems written 
 of men are but translations of nature, and to each 
 of us is the possibility of reading them in the 
 original, if we but will. 
 
riendship i$ one of 
 tbe few words of eartb 
 that will be compre= 
 bended of souls in 
 tbe hereafter* 
 
K 
 
 THE nights are nearing when shooting stars 
 scratch the purple skies. Across the dark- 
 ened dome the tramps of heaven hurry, 
 blazing an instant, then going out forever. A 
 moment they charm, but even the memory is 
 quickly gone, and again we turn to those far-set 
 specks of light which, from the earliest times, 
 have been as now. Small though they be, and 
 infinitesimal amid the countless legions, we 
 know where to find them each clear night, and 
 they never disappoint us. Through long watches 
 of cloud curtaining we may still be sure of them 
 — sure that when the veil is at length dissolved, 
 we shall see our friends in their old places. 
 
 Friend — what a word! Blessed is he who 
 can boast one, in the full meaning. Who has 
 two is rich beyond words, and more than that 
 marks one truly loved of the Maker. There may 
 be a score of friendly acquaintances, but my 
 "friend** is as different from these as is the fixed 
 star from the meteor. My "friend" is that one 
 who came into my life as did the stars, without 
 any great flashing of lights; whose place seems 
 
 31 
 
32 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 as truly foreordained as the dwellings of those 
 distant beacons. My "friend" is constant, like 
 that high star, and^though distance and days come 
 between us, as do clouds between it and me, I 
 know my friend is still there, shining with the 
 same dear, steady light, and when the distance 
 and days are melted away I shall find it so. 
 
 My "friend" is the one before whom I need 
 not fear to unfold all that I am. That one is the 
 first to appreciate the good ; the last to leave me 
 on account of the evil. In short, my "friend" 
 is some part of my own self, which after many 
 or few years, I have met again, purified and 
 made better by the stewardship exercised over it. 
 
 My "friend" is a great part of the true 
 wealth open to every life which will allow itself 
 to be truly unfolded. For each note given forth 
 from the heart's harp-strings finds an answering 
 note somewhere, and if that note be burdened 
 only with the best melody, it shall some day 
 come back finely blended with a note of friend- 
 ship. We cannot "make" friends. We cannot 
 often " choose " them. In that same place where 
 is put into one heart the torch that is sometime 
 to light the candle of another, all true friend- 
 ships are planned, and into our human care is 
 entrusted only the building — and the joy! 
 
bat our hearts may be 
 unfeianedly thankful, 
 and that we show forth 
 our praise not only with 
 our lips, but in our 
 lives. 
 
 (^Book of Commo?i Prayer.) 
 
 10 
 
X 
 
 TO-DAY our thoughts turn to a lone rock on 
 the New England coast. Standing beside 
 that milestone in the path of the progress 
 of men and nations, and looking back across the 
 years that have come and gone since the Pil- 
 grims, we face the miracle of the ages. For on 
 that scant foundation has been builded the best 
 of the temples of Time — a free government with- 
 out a parallel in history. The promise of one 
 bleak day is a thousand-fold fulfilled. In com- 
 pany with a host of heroes whose like has seldom 
 been, they sleep in peace who cast to the winds 
 from that barren spot the seeds of what has 
 come to pass. And in peace with a wondering 
 world, we reap the harvest. And in thankful- 
 ness. 
 
 Is it too much, as we bend before the Maker 
 of Nations, to dwell awhile on the struggles of 
 those earlier years, yet remembering how an 
 unseen hand seemed ever to guide aright, and 
 to guard? Shall we forget the dangers, suffer- 
 ing and deaths which were borne that just princi- 
 ples might live, and high standards have their 
 
34 THE GREAT OPTIMIST 
 
 being and flourish? And as we behold the line 
 of phantom figures that rise from out the mist, 
 they seem to live again in all the vigor and 
 strength of their first existence. 
 
 They are not dead; they stand arrayed 
 In robes aglow with what is good and true. 
 Theirs is the noblest emblem Time has made — 
 The red of martyrdom, the white of peace, 
 And of God's everlasting dome, the blue. 
 
 When we come back to the present, and rise 
 to the duties that are, let it be with more strength 
 to strive — not for the seen greatness, since that 
 fades, but for those higher ends that serve God 
 and man alike. We have kept well the trust, 
 yet sometimes we have faltered. Much that 
 they would and we might have done, remains 
 undone to-day. It is not alone, or enough for 
 us to ask forgiveness. It is also our duty, and 
 our first duty, to grasp what has gone wrong 
 and right it now. Like them we are human, 
 but God never asks more than man can give. 
 They laid the foundation and left the structure 
 to our rearing and our care. 
 
 They held to the hand rail of Heaven while 
 they set the stones. Did they wrong? Then let 
 us likewise. Let us temper progress with high 
 purpose. Let us alloy gain with good and firm- 
 ness with faith. Let us blend with all labor, 
 
THE GREAT OPTIMIST 35 
 
 love. Then when our children's children kneel 
 as we kneel to-day, it shall be in a better, a 
 nobler, and a more glorious land. Amen! 
 
1903 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRF<;c; 
 
 liiiili 
 
 015 938 201 1