I say this is rather unusual. But, to mention the second lesson of the parable, it is no stranger than the guiding of youth through the formative years into a maturity, morally beautiful and capable of vision. And it is only as the home and school, the church and state watch over these sensitive periods, protecting the young from the blights of the frosts of skepticism and sensuality that their lives will mature into characters as golden and hardy as our native fruit. Sane, honorable evangelism never excludes Christian nurture any more than the sunlight obviates the necessity of soil cultivation.
The orange tree, it is true, does not tower in height and conspicuous leadership like the giant Sequoias and Redwoods—although it is said that the bitter specie of the tree occasionally acquires considerable diameter and that the trunk of one near Nice still standing in 1789 became so large that two men could scarcely embrace it. The citrus tree does not tower like Babel. But better yet, it simply bears fruit for food—which the giants of the forest fail to do—like the strong men who prefer only to be reliably useful.
And this third thought suggested by our object lesson is most apparent. For with the instinct of good Americans we hasten to declare that the sight of these trees all comparatively of the same height and vibrant with the same beauty and glow of health does not suggest a monarchy, an aristocracy or even a plutocracy but rather a successful democracy; not only one of an equality of rights, because they all have access to the same sunlight and soil, but also an equality of duty because they all seek to bear fruit—a commonwealth in which every private citizen is capable of being an uncrowned king. This must have been the lesson that Ruskin interpreted from nature when he said: "A forest of all manner of trees is poor, if not disagreeable in effect, a mass of one species of trees is sublime."
And thus as I stood on the highest foothill overlooking these valleys, these were the most important thoughts that were suggested to me by what I saw—the necessity of these three qualities in the forming of mature character, faith in God, the guidance and protection of friendship and education for youth, and useful service, all of which condensed into a single phrase means the co-operation of God with man in producing the beautiful fruit of a refined, symmetrical life.
And then it dawned upon me that a number of other men had also learned parables from the trees. For as I looked over that great expanse of orchards to the south, detecting the irrigating streams flowing among the trees, with patches of the barren desert appearing here and there in striking contrast, the results of an abiding faith in God came to me in the words of David:
"Blessed is the man that walked not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.
"He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season, his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper."
And finally as I descended the foothill and came long side of an orchard and saw a barren, scrubby trunk next to a splendid orange tree vigorous and laden down with fruit, the words of Christ pressed to my lips for utterance: "By their fruit ye shall know them. * * * A good tree cannot bear evil fruit, neither can an evil tree bear good fruit."
It was then that I said to myself, why should not all men observe and find the helpful parable in this favorite California tree. Because we are more than mere animals we should rebel against hearing the terrible parable of a barren fig tree pronounced on our lives. But if we profit by the thoughts suggested by a modern parable of the orange tree, then our spirit will be as beautiful and wholesome as the eternal green of its leaves, our character as golden as its fruit and our deeds as numerous as its blossoms, for often the new blossoms appear before the ripe fruit has been picked from the branches.