ing readiness of eye and brain, and instant decision—how all these later entered into his passionately eager, virile life, whether as shepherd or musician, lover or father, prophet or priest, exile or king. The difficulties, transmuted by the strength of the hills, had been his stern teachers.
Strange as it is trite, mused the Mountain-Lover, that all that is highest in unspoiled man compels him to choose the hard; not the flower-strewn way, but the flinty paths that end in a cross-crowned summit, summon his imperatively, even while his lower, ease-loving nature would pull him down to a life of soft places. Strange! the strength of the Divine in him—what else can it be?—that drives man away from the effortless plains, urging him to use the last ounce of human energy if need be, to gain the height by that sharp-edged way that cuts and tears the feet in their blood-marked trail—up and ever up. The Heights, crowned by a Cross draw all men unto them. The green pastures below are the sunny
