ORDER OF SERVICE. I. ORGAN VOLUNTARY. 2. ANTHEM. 3. RESPONSIVE READING, Ps. xc. 4. CHOIR HYMN, No. 150, "Love divine, all love excelling." 5. SCRIPTURE LESSON, Matt. v. (Selections.) 7. PRAYER. (See end of sermon.) 8. RESPONSE BY THE CHOIR. 9. NOTICES. 10. SERMON. 11. PRAYER (very brief). 12. ANTHEM. 13. BENEDICTION, with 14. AMEN BY THE CHOIR. Hymn-book used, "Sacred Songs for Public Worship," by Savage and Dow. ex 7:43 A NATURAL LIFE. My theme this morning is "A Natural Life"; and I take as my text, from the fifth chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew, the forty-eighth verse, the words, "Ye therefore shall be perfect, even as your heavenly Father is perfect." Among those stories of the old mythology which have a deeper meaning than appears on the surface is that which is told of the giant Antæus. It is said that his mother was the earth; and he found, in contact with the earth, a perpetual renewal of life and power. And, in the famous contest which the story says he had with the sunhero Hercules, it was found that, whenever he was thrown, he arose stronger than ever before; for he had received an accession of life from that which was the source and fountain of his life, so that the only way in which he could be destroyed was by holding him in the air and strangling him by main force, keeping him away from contact with that which had power to renew his strength. We all, no matter by how many removes, feel that we, also, are children of the earth. And, when we become wearied of our civilization, of that which seems to us conventional and artificial, when our hands are worn and our brains are tired, when the main body of the year's work is through and we are for a little time set free from it, we rush back to the arms of our old Mother Nature, with the sense that we, too, may gain a renewal, an accession of life, of power. And we do gain such accession, such renewal. There is something in us that thrills responsively to those words of Lowell from "Under the Willows": "I care not how men trace their ancestry, To ape or Adam; let them please their whim; A tree among my far progenitors, Such sympathy is mine with all the race." There does seem to us, in the trees and the shadow of the mountains and on the seashore, a sense of a presence, a life, a power, out of which we have come, that is akin to us, that seems to fold us tired wanderers away from the natural life in its arms, soothing, hushing to quiet. There is something in us that re-echoes those familiar words of Byron,— "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is society, where none intrudes, And one other poetic expression of this same thought I wish to give you, showing you how the singers of the world have been able to echo the common heart; for we do all, whether we can give eloquent or poetic expression to the idea or not, recognize it as our thought, our impulse, our feeling. Wordsworth, in his great love of nature, perhaps exaggerated the power that nature has over us, perhaps also exaggerated the artificialities of human civilization; for I take it that, however much we may eulogize nature, we should not see nature as we do see it but for the thousands of years of human civilization. Among the barbaric peoples of the world there is no such delight in nature as there is among those who are civilized. There is none of this sense of rest in getting back to nature, as we say. It requires the educated eye, the cultured imagination, to see and feel. And yet, when we are wearied, we can appreciate this simple poem of Wordsworth : "Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks, Why all this toil and trouble? Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you'll grow double. "The sun above the mountain's head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, "Books, 'tis a dull and endless strife; "And hark, how blithe the throstle sings! "She has a world of ready wealth "One impulse from a vernal wood Of mortal evil, and of good Than all the sages can. "Sweet is the law which Nature brings Our meddling intellect; She shapes the beauteous forms of things- "Enough of science and of art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives." I think it is with some such thoughts, some such impulse as the poets have thus given expression to, that we go back for a time to what we call a natural life, glad to escape the worry, the care, the fret, the weary attempt to be something more and something different from that which is quite easy, quite natural, to our commoner instincts. What is it, if. we analyze it a little, that makes up the deliciousness of this natural life that we lead by the sea or in the mountains or in the country for a time? In the first place, it is so unconventional. We do as we please; and what a luxury there is in that! No thought, no care, as to whether our dress, our getting up, our sitting down, our going to sleep, our coming or going in any way is regarded by our neighbor. For a little time we do as we will. We fling off the conventionalities of life, feeling some such relief as did the first Napoleon when, after the irksome weariness of the long coronation ceremony that proclaimed him emperor of the French, the moment he had retired to his room he exclaimed, "Off, off with these confounded trappings!" Free, himself again! Away from the sight of the crowd where he must pose and appear; retired, where he could be his own simple self. And another element of it is the sense of perfect leisure. How little of it comes into our busy lives! And what a luxury it is have you not felt it? to lie under a tree for a time and feel, "There is no engagement that I have to make; there is no train that I must try to catch to-day; there is nothing that I need to do. I can lie here just as long as I please, and watch the clouds sail across the blue, a part of nature and as restful as itself." And then another element of it is the fact that we can for a little while devote our attention to those things which are essential, which are vitally human. And what are these? Not the business, not the street or the house, not the clothing, not social engagements or arrangements, but just the simple fact of living,- of thinking, of loving, of enjoying converse with friends, of reading a book that touches, that lifts us. For a little while we simply live, forgetting all the worry that concerns itself only with the means for living. Is not, then, the natural life which we lead for a time during the vacation days made up of simple things like these? And is it not with something of reluctance that we come back from such an outing, however brief or however prolonged it may be, and harness ourselves once more and begin to pull at the same old load that we know perfectly well we shall never get to the destination of which we |