And these white peaks, and these lone sentinels lift one nearer to God:
"But the stars throng out in their glory,
And they sing of the God in man;
They sing of the Mighty Master,
Of the loom his fingers span,
Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
And weft in the wondrous plan.
"Here by the camp-fire's flicker,
Deep in my blanket curled,
I long for the peace of the pine-gloom,
Where the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,
And the wind and the wave are silent,
And world is singing to world."
The Spell of the Yukon.
"Have you strung your soul to silence?" he abruptly asks in "The Call
of the Wild"; and again, another searching query, "Have you known the
great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver? (Eternal truths
which shame our soothing lies.)" And again another query that rips the
soul open, and that tears off life's veneer:
"Have you suffered, starved, and triumphed, groveled down,
yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
'Done things,' just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
See through the nice veneer the naked soul?"
The Spell of the Yukon.
and how his virile soul rings its tribute to the "silent men who do
things!"--the kind that the world finds once in a century for its great
needs:
"The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things--.
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