Roman Mosaics (Fiscle Part-11)

User: silviya
Roman Mosaics (Fiscle Part-11)

I Know Nothing More Delightful Than A Walk To A Country Church On A
Fine Day At The End Of Summer. All The Lovely Promises Of Spring Have
Been Fulfilled; The Woods Are Clothed With Their Darkest Foliage, And
Not Another Leaflet Is To Come Anywhere. The Lingering Plumes Of The
Meadow-Sweet In The Fields, And The Golden Trumpets Of The Wild
Honeysuckle In The Hedges, Make The Warm Air A Luxury To Breathe; And
The Presence Of A Few Tufts Of Bluebells By The Wayside Gives The
Landscape The Last Finishing Touch Of Perfection, Which Is Suggestive
Of Decay, And Has Such An Indescribable Pathos About It. Nature Pauses
To Admire Her Own Handiwork; She Ceases From Her Labours, And Enjoys
An Interval Of Rest. It Is The Sabbath Of The Year. At Such A Time
Every Object Is Associated With Its Spiritual Idea, As It Is With Its
Natural Shadow. The Beauty Of Nature Suggests Thoughts Of The Beauty
Of Holiness; And The Calm Rest Of Creation Speaks To Us Of The Deeper
Rest Of The Soul In God. On The Shadowed Path That Leads Up To The
House Of Prayer, With Mind And Senses Quickened To Perceive The
Loveliness And Significance Of The Smallest Object, The Fern On The
Bank And The Lichen On The Wall, We Feel Indeed That Heaven Is Not So
Much A Yonder, Towards Which We Are To Move, As A Here And A Now,
Which We Are To Realise.

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