"Say unto your sisters Ruhamah," cries the prophet.
"He shall come down like rain on the mown grass," sang the poet of
the sheepfolds.
"My ways are not your ways, saith the Lord."
I remember how I went home along the damp sweet-scented lanes
through the grey mist of the rain, thinking of the mown field and
Elizabeth Banks and many, many more; and that night, when the sky
had cleared and the nightingale sang, I looked out at the moon
riding at anchor, a silver boat in a still blue sea ablaze with the
headlights of the stars, and the saying of the herdsman of Tekoa
came to me--as it has come oftentimes since:-
Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the
shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with
night; that calleth for the waters of the sea and poureth them out
upon the face of earth; the Lord is His name.
CHAPTER II
This garden is an epitome of peace; sun and wind, rain, flowers,
and birds gather me into the blessedness of their active harmony.
The world holds no wish for me, now that I have come home to die
with my own people, for verify I think that the sap of grass and
trees must run in my veins, so steady is their pull upon my heart-
strings. London claimed all my philosophy, but the country gives
all, and asks of me only the warm receptivity of a child in its
mother's arms.
When I lie in my cool light room on the garden level, I look across
the bright grass--il verde smalto--to a great red rose bush in
lavish disarray against the dark cypress.
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