OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, August 26, 1914, LAST EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-08-26/ed-1/seq-19/

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wandered. In the great broad sense
of divinity the world lay before him
a mere midget of the universe. Cities
were as ant hills, events panoramic.
And then, the newness of illimit
able omnipresence wearing away, a
great longing came to him. Material
things were as nothing now, not even
love. The spirit seemed to crave for
some high, pure ideal where the soul
could be fed and satisfied. There
came a keen mental analysis. "What
had been his earthly life's greatest
boon? And, thinking of the good
ness of heaven, the strong contrast of
his latter life, purified as by fire, his
answer was speedy "Joy."
So it came jto his soul that as one
man might have the predominating
spirit of peace, another of hope, an
other of faith, with him full souled
joy had wrought out a, blessed meas
ure of existence. "Dear old world,"
his creed had run, "I love every
body!" and he had lived out the senti
ment and had been happy.
Joy, an essence, an inspiration, an
expression of gratitude it was asr
much an entity, as sunshine, or the
perfume of flowers, as the rare influ
ence of music. All found abiding
places in some souls craving the
guest. Where could joy discover a
sure dwelling place?
To the palace of kings where power
and .luxury prevailed the seeking
spirit sought a home. Alas! power
was fleeting, wealth a canker. In
lower social grades there was only
selfish .desires, vanity, duplicity.
There were peaceful and striving
hearts aflame with the zeal of relig
ious fervor, it was true, but these
already had their meet guest.
At the end of a week of wandering
the ego of Roscoe Phail hovered over
an isolated island amid a dismal
ocean solitude. At one end was a
cluster of small but pleasantly en
vironed huts. Directly within his
view where a patch of glowing green
ery showed, arrayed in a plain coarse
dress was a young girl.
She would pick a stray flower and
press it to her lips as if she loved it.
The birds hovered near her as-thougb-they
knew her for a friend. Her face
was like that of a seraph, her eyes
shone with tie pure peaceful calm of
a glorified spirit.
Then she faced the sunset and her
soul spoke in song, mellow, echo
ing, rhapsodic. It was a psalm of
gratitude to the great power, Love,
for whom moved all the springs or
her being. Then she went in among
the little habitations.
Feeble, old men blessed her as she
passed by. Pain-faced women bask
ed in ber smile. She had cheer for
all. Then when she entered hut after
hut and ministered to the needs of
the bed-ridden men and women, Ros
coe Phail understood that she was
the nurse in charge of this strange
camp.
Upon the faces of all save this
grand spirit immune, there was a
shadow, a blight. Of a sudden the
full realization of the scene dawned
upon Roscoe Phail
r A leper community!
Then what mission had he, the
spirit of Joj , in this desolate spot ac
cursed of man, shunned by all hu
manity? What pari had joy amid
suffering, banishment, isolation.
But he soon knew. When those
poor unfortunates gathered within
the larger structure of the group at
eventide to listen to the instructive,
directing or entertaining words of
their monitor and nurse, a restful
calm came to the wandering spirit.
Here, indeed, was joy! The sacri
fice of love, comfort, security on the
part of their glowing young creature
seemed to fill every soul with grati
tude. She told them a simple story
and Roscoe Phail understood.
It was the story of Morton Ross.
This was his orphan daughter. She
recited the kindness of a noble man
himself-who had helped lift her
father from the miry clay and set his
feet upon a rock, how she, from the
inspiration of that great deed, had
been moved to devote her life to a,
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