the very pins, and rivets, and clasps of nature, are attractive by qualities of beauty, more than is necessary for mere utility.  The sun could go down without gorgeous clouds; evening could advance without its evanescent brilliance; trees might have flourished without symmetry; flowers have existed without odor, and fruit without flavor.  When I have journeyed through forests, where ten thousand shrubs and vines exist without apparent use; through prairies, whose undulations exhibit sheets of flowers innumerable, and absolutely dazzling the eye with their prodigality of beauty—­beauty, not a tithe of which is ever seen by man—­I have said, it is plain that God is himself passionately fond of beauty, and the earth is his garden, as an acre is man’s.  God has made us like Himself, to be pleased by the universal beauty of the world.  He has made provision in nature, in society, and in the family, for amusement and exhilaration enough to fill the heart with the perpetual sunshine of delight.

Upon this broad earth, purfled with flowers, scented with odors, brilliant in colors, vocal with echoing and re-echoing melody, I take my stand against all demoralizing pleasure.  Is it not enough that our Father’s house is so full of dear delights, that we must wander prodigal to the swine-herd for husks, and to the slough for drink?—­when the trees of God’s heritage bend over our head and solicit our hand to pluck the golden fruitage, must we still go in search of the apples of Sodom, outside fair and inside ashes.

Men shall crowd to the circus to hear clowns, and see rare feats of horsemanship; but a bird may poise beneath the very sun, or flying downward, swoop from the high heaven; then flit with graceful ease hither and thither, pouring liquid song as if it were a perennial fountain of sound—­no man cares for that.

Upon the stage of life, the vastest tragedies are performing in every act; nations pitching headlong to their final catastrophe; others, raising their youthful forms to begin the drama of existence.  The world of society is as full of exciting interest, as nature is full of beauty.  The great dramatic throng of life is bustling along—­the wise, the fool, the clown, the miser, the bereaved, the broken-hearted.  Life mingles before us smiles and tears, sighs and laughter, joy and gloom, as the spring mingles the winter-storm and summer-sunshine.  To this vast Theatre which God hath builded, where stranger plays are seen than ever author writ, man seldom cares to come.  When God dramatizes, when nations act, or all the human kind conspire to educe the vast catastrophe, men sleep and snore, and let the busy scene go on, unlocked, unthought upon....  It is my object then, not to withdraw the young from pleasure, but from unworthy pleasures; not to lessen their enjoyments, but to increase them, by rejecting the counterfeit and the vile.

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From “Norwood.”