When the wild crabapple puts forth blossoms, Nature sermons presched, , Ill . mere pretense, as deceiv-ing as the marble veneer over the rough Jesus time it seemed as though blind mensat by every wayside. In our time blind menare thronging our streets, are crossing ourthresholds, are staring vacantly into the face ofthe sky, into the face of the forest, into the faceof the orchard. Having eyes, they do not see;nay, they do not have eyes. Something is lack-ing. The flesh is there, the cornea and iris andpupil, the crystalline lens, the aqueous humorand vitreous humor, the re
When the wild crabapple puts forth blossoms, Nature sermons presched, , Ill . mere pretense, as deceiv-ing as the marble veneer over the rough Jesus time it seemed as though blind mensat by every wayside. In our time blind menare thronging our streets, are crossing ourthresholds, are staring vacantly into the face ofthe sky, into the face of the forest, into the faceof the orchard. Having eyes, they do not see;nay, they do not have eyes. Something is lack-ing. The flesh is there, the cornea and iris andpupil, the crystalline lens, the aqueous humorand vitreous humor, the retina and optic nerve,but the spirit is lacking. And without the spiritof seeing the flesh of seeing is weak. These blind men gazing upon the dandelionsadorning the field in early spring, displayingbeauty enough to make a seer weep for joy asthey catch the golden sunshine and reflect it198 PATHFINDERS back from their own faces, each blossom a nug-get of glistening gold set in a field of emerald-green, and each blossom of the flower-clustera work of technique, a work of art; these men. THE VULTURES EYE Young Marsh Hawks say, Humph, a lot of weeds. Gazing uponthe hulls of Gods fleet of battleships as theycome into vision on the distant edge of the hori-zon and plow their way so majestically fromhorizon to zenith, maneuvering for position as199 PATHFINDERS they sail in the great blue ocean above us, theblind man says, Humph, going to rain; ugly-looking black clouds; lets get in the house andclose the door and draw the curtains. But thecurtains are already drawn. Gazing on theplace where waters lurk in quiet pasture-poolsand give birth to reed and rush and sedge, whichmake music all the day, instruments of manystrings breathing music when blown upon bythe gentle breeze, where birds sing to the morn-ing-sun and the frogs at twilight pipe to therising moon, and the muskrat thrusts his noseacross the quiet pond and breaks its surface intomany circles; he says, Humph, nothing but aswamp
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