p. 9 | TRIAL, A TOUCHSTONE by Louis Van Norman

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Sep 23, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 37.

TRIAL, A TOUCHSTONE.

By Louis Van Norman

"Virtue, like sweet odors, is most fragrant when crushed."

In the Rhineland, runs the story, in the days of long ago, Stood a castle on a lofty mountainside, With stern battlements that frowned o'er the quiet vale below, And a keep that even Time himself defied.

The old count who held high revel in its ancient wassail hall, In his love of minstrel music, wild and free, High o'er the sleeping valley to the neighboring mountain tall, Had strung great wire cables skilfully.

When upon these chords of iron breathed the balmy breath of June, Or the gentle zephyr fanned them with his wings, They spake not back, nor answered to the harvest breeze's croon, And e'en the autumn gales found silent strings.

But when winter's boreal coursers, at the chariot wheels of storm, Swept with their majestic power o'er the vale, And the stern old god of tempest rent the clouds in wild alarm, With his vivid lightnings, couriers of the gale,

Then the smitten cables answered, and their accents, weird and grand, Reached the dwellers in the valley like a strain From some mighty, sweet Æolean, in a far-off fairy land, Or an echo from an angel song's refrain.

In the kisses of life's sunshine there is naught to prove the soul, Nor can fortune's breezes wake its music fine, But when sorrow's blasts come fierce, and affliction's thunders roll, Then the chastened spirit sings its song divine.

Louis Van Norman.