in the way the world is made and is being made every morning. The true lover of nature is touched with a kind of cosm

here were an extra Creator we could go to-some of us-and boast about the one we ha

are taking in the world. The typical modern man, whatever may be said or not said of his religion, of his

ognize what he is for, and be a god, too. We believe to-day that the best recognition of God consists in recogn

it-but when I waked a few mornings ago and felt myself swinging in my own house as if it were a hammock, and was told that some men down in Hazardville, Connecticut, had managed to shake the planet like that, with some gunpowder they had made, I felt

elve-year-old boy, at least, the thought of the hour he spent with that engine first is a thought he sings and prays with to this day. His lips trembled before it. He sought to hide himself in its presence. Why had no one ever taught him anything before? As he looks back through his life there is one experience that stands ou

ms, the appeal to destiny, to the imagination and to the soul. It rebuilds the universe. It is the opportunity of beauty throughout life, the symbol of freedom, the freedom of men, and of the unity of nations, and of the worship of God. In silence-like the soft far running of

that was builded in it-was the vision of the age to be: the vision of Man, My Brother, after the singsong and dance and drone of his sad four thousand years, lifting himself to the stature of his soul at last, liftin

because He has made the vast and still machine of creation, in the beating of whose days and nights we live our lives, but because He has made a Machine that can make machines-because out of the dust of the earth He has made a Machine that shall take more of the dust of