The Golden Censer | Page 6

It--Its Eloquence--Its
Triumphs in an Infinitude of Tests. Page 421.
The Evening of Life.
Age the Outer Shore against which Dashes an Eternity--We are on a
small Planet, but We Belong to a Larger Celestial Empire--The
Undevout Astronomer Insane--Does the Beast Peer into the
Stars?--Eternity is not a conceit of Man--Apostrophe to a Patriarch.
Page 433.
The Future Life.
Cato's Soliloquy--Promises of God's Word clothed in Syllables of
Unsurpassable Sweetness--He that holdeth the Pleiades in His Right
Hand--Blissful Forecasts--Shall God weigh out Arcturus to Stop the
Unreasoning Clamor of the Fool who Hath Said in His Heart there Is
No God? Conclusion. Page 441.

THE GOLDEN CENSER.
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. --Edgar
Poe.
[Illustration A] golden censer swings in the Temple of Life, making
holy its halls and grateful its corridors. This fountain of our well-being
is Duty. There is little true pleasure in the world which does not flow,
either directly or remotely, from its depths.
It shall be the object of this volume to point out and name a few of the
balms which burn in this Unseen Censer--a few of the lines of action
which render our memories sweet and forever pleasant if they be wrapt
in such perfume.

THE PALACE OF THE SOUL.
When the incense of a man's good actions spreads through the palace of
the soul, "the powers that wait on noble deeds" light up the edifice with
radiance brought from other worlds. In the eye of a good man--in the
window of the palace of his soul--we behold an occupant who fears no
duty. We are fascinated, and gather about, anxious to peer in upon the
fortunate possessor. Therein lies the happiness and the force of good
example.
But let the Censer burn low, and flicker in final sickliness; the great
bell called Conscience, hanging in the dome, strikes an alarm that rocks
the building. How oft the solemn tocsin sounds! It drives us to our duty!
Let us be thankful its clangor is so harsh!
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY,
the man whose heart was torn each time his soldiers' feet did bleed--the
man who stood like a rock between the despot and the
down-trodden--that man, at the end of the career which glorified him,
and which, with reflected glory will light the annals of all coming
centuries--that kind, good man, George Washington, could not discern
the separating line between Duty and human happiness. "The
consideration that human happiness and moral duty," he said, "are
inseparately connected, will always continue to prompt me to promote
the progress of the one by inculcating the practice of the other."
LET US KEEP THE GOLDEN CENSER BURNING
with the frankincense of our highest endeavors. "Let us," as Theodore
Parker once said, "do our duty in our shop, or our kitchen, the market,
the street, the office, the school, the home, just as faithfully as if we
stood in the front rank of some great battle, and we knew that victory
for mankind depended on our bravery, strength, and skill. When we do
that, the humblest of us will be serving in that great army which
achieves the welfare of the world."
THE SOLDIER GOES FORTH

with his loins girded, hoping to conquer in the hard battles of life. Let
the incense of Duty cling to his garments and keep him clean from
selfish contagion. How lovely the picture of that old man of
Goldsmith's time, swinging the Golden Censer before the hearts that
throbbed in unison with him:
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And as a bird each
fond endearment tries,
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art,
reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Our duty was created with us. It is a pleasure to live. What then should
be the pleasure to think there is a place for us--a duty beneficently
made that gives us rights with our fellow-creatures? What though the
duty may try your soul and stagger your capabilities? "Skillful pilots
gain their reputation from storms and tempests." Bear up with patient
courage--"the bird that flutters least is longest on the wing." "Duty is
the stern daughter of the voice of God."
Let us then, upon entering this stately Temple of Life, cast into the
Golden Censer our courage, our hope, our energy, our love, our
industry, and all those qualities which go to make the air around us
redolent with the fragrance of the achievements of life. It cannot then
well be that we shall lack in allegiance to our Maker, our country, or
ourselves. "Duties are ours; events are God's."
"On parent knee, a naked, newborn child, Weeping