THE ORGAN AND ITS PIPES AND REEDS.
Perhaps I can impress the true necessity of discipline no more forcibly
than by comparing society to a grand organ upon which the Creator sounds
his mighty fugue of years. We are the pipes--some the colossal columns
which shake the world, and others the tiny tubes which make a feeble
cry, almost unheard. No one of us must sound his note save in that
proper place and at that proper time which Duty indicates. We mar a
perfect harmony by ill-tempered silence, and perhaps ruin the labors of
our associates by a continuous sounding of our own ridiculous reed.
WHEREVER WE ARE
In the factory, the counting house, the workshops of the grand
industries,--or on the broad acres which watch so fondly for the sun,
let us be careful, when there is a troubling jar, a fatal discord, that
our key is not the guilty one.
BOOKS.
--Books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good;
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.--Wordsworth.
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