Another acted always on the impulse of the moment in speaking to a friend or to a stranger upon religious matters. Another wrote that she had observed for many years that the praying housekeepers were guided in their work by the most trustworthy intuitions. Few is the number of women who guide their domestic affairs by the rules of cold science, and the larger part of a mother's movements in the care of her children are the unconscious results of special intuition. She claims that in the intuitional nature of the human soul there is such nearness to the divine nature that the especially sensitive soul "feels impulses from across the border."
Here, again, after a day's study of the many accounts concerning the impulses awakened by prayer, we lay down the correspondence with a sigh of regret that nothing absolutely conclusive for or against prayer is to be found. We must still believe or disbelieve according to the measure of faith. In the courts of law attorneys often establish their cases by the use of what is termed "cumulative evidence," where they secure the testimony of many witnesses to the same fact. If that custom be applied to the establishment of the fact that emotions and impulses are sent in answer to prayer the number in its favor would be overwhelming. Down in the subcellar of the mind there may be a tunnel leading through to the palace of God. Millions believe that is a fact. No one can prove it is not so. Therefore, with the reasonable student, the testimony of the many will still be considered trustworthy. The soul of God speaketh often to the soul of man. A great writer on secular subjects confirmed the general impression when he forcibly wrote, "You can get almost anything you want, if you only want it hard enough, and long enough, and with faith enough."
Chapter IV
Praying for Visions of Heaven
A STURDY young farmer's boy who had inherited a strong body, a clear mind, and a good family name sat under a maple tree in the hayfield at the hot noontide. He was eating a cold lunch and at the same time reading an article in the weekly paper. The editor had written an editorial on the romantic history of the poor country boys who had risen to world-wide fame and to enormous riches. When he had reread the article he tossed the paper aside, lay back on the odorous new-mown grass, looked up at the deep-blue sky, and watched the passing of a pure-white cloud. A vision of what the world might be to him came in a dreamy way. Other boys as poor as he had graduated from college, had made great scientific discoveries, had married rich and beautiful women, had traveled in far countries, had feasted with kings, had held high office, and had written great books. Why could not he follow their example? It seemed impossible, and with a deep sigh he arose and seized his scythe.
But the vision could not be obscured. As his strong muscles drove the sharp blade through the thick grass he kept muttering to himself, debating pro and con the possibility of an ignorant farmer, living far away from city civilization, and too far from a railroad to hear the whistle, to become powerful in national affairs. How did they start? What did they do first? When his return swath brought him again near the shade of the tree where he had eaten his lunch he caught up the weekly paper and read again the editorial. Then he left his scythe in the grass and went into the shade, leaned against the gnarled trunk of the old tree, and, wholly engrossed in earnest thought, forgot his work. He reviewed his own simple life and examined his own plans and ambitions. He had expected to marry some one of the strong, sensible, country girls and bring her home to live with the old folks, as his father had done. He had a dim idea that he would inherit the old, stony farm some day. He had a latent ambition to raise more corn than his father had raised and to clear a large piece of woodland which for centuries had hidden the mountain side. He would build an addition to the stable and put in a new pair of bars near the brook where the cattle went to drink in winter. He had also a half-formed purpose to join the local church, and perhaps some day he would be an elder.
At last he aroused himself and, with a half-angry impulse, he began to strike the grass with his scythe as if the grass were some sneaking enemy. He could not arouse again the sweet content of the forenoon. He had caught a glimpse of that far-away land, and while he did not hope ever to enter it, yet the thought disturbed him.
The next Sunday the echo of the old church bell, along the narrow, but beautiful, Berkshire valleys, called him to church. The cows were milked and fed, the old horse curried, and the chores hastily finished when he ran down the road to overtake the old folks. But the grand forest, the sheening, cascading brook, and the brown fields were not the same to him that they were the day before. The cows and horses in the pastures near the road had lost their fascination and value. The hills seemed lower and the grain fields more narrow, the cottages seemed shrunken, and the old church was but an awkwardly built bungalow. All had changed. His clothing was coarser woven and the most attractive girls in their Sunday attire were rude specimens of country verdancy.
As if by a preconceived purpose to accelerate his sweeping mental changes the preacher that morning took his text from the Proverbs of Solomon, wherein he stated that wisdom is more valuable than gold or rubies. The speaker illustrated his sermon by showing the value of an education. He mentioned the happiness of the men and women who knew the structure of vegetation, of animals, and the laws which control their life. He mentioned cases of self-made men who had read good books and whose minds could walk with God through his wonderful natural creations. He spoke of the uselessness or curse of possessions which the owner cannot enjoy for lack of knowledge. He said that the discipline of obtaining wisdom was in itself of great value and that God promised riches, and honor to the man who would earn them. He also said that the Lord started many of us into life with nothing for the loving purpose of developing our capacity and inclination to know and enjoy more. The happiest boy is the one who makes his own toys. The application of the sermon brought forth the exhortation to read instructive books, to examine more closely the works of nature and the laws which control our being. "Learn something every day," said the preacher, and he closed with the quotation from Luther, "Not a day without learning another verse" ("Nulla dies sine versu").