Near us a boat grated softly on the pebbly bottom of a cove and swung in. From the deep purple shadow of the wooded shore, out over the lake a thin white veil was slowly creeping as if the purple bloom had faded to silvery whiteness. It seemed not unlike the breath of the sleeping water, and the spirit of the silent lake.
Suddenly a melody that seemed as serene as the mountains and as pure as the lake broke the silence; far up on a wooded ridge a thrush was chanting his evening hymn to the Creator. It was as if the soul of the quiet lake spoke to us; the spirit that haunts high mountains, clear lakes, shadowy forests, and all that is pure and beautiful in life; its hopes, longings and faith were voiced in that mellow "angelus" of the forest.
We would love to see the twilight linger, but all things must end, and we pursued our way down the winding shore road, already gray with the coming night. Before we said good-night the mister said, "I wonder what eternity will be like?" His comrade spoke with a clearness of speech, declaring a truth that no one could doubt: "Eternity is here and now, and this is our first glimpse into paradise."
Long after retiring the words of George Herbert came and went through memory:
"Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dews shall weep thy fall tonight;
For thou must die.
Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;
Thy root is ever in the grave
And thou must die.
Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses;
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shows you have your closes
And all must die.
Only a great and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But, though the whole world turns to coal
Then chiefly lives."