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The story of the Thracian lyre soothing the horrors of the underworld, and melting to relentment its gloomy king the story of the shepherd-minstrel's harp chasing the shapeless penumbra of looming insanity from the first Hebrew brow crowned in Jehovah's despite the story of the mighty prophet Elisha, fettered to earth by wrath and scorn till, at his own command, the music swelled, and his enfranchised spirit rose on its viewless wings to behold the veiled Future already woven from the tangled skein of the troubled Present the thousand-fold story of music's magic and mystery, stretches back into the forgotten Past, and onward into the imagined Future.
Like Jehovah's definition of Himself, it is, it has been, and ever will be. Everywhere the same, always the same, forever the same, there is no way out. All of these strictures upon poor human nature are exceedingly delightful to our careerists.
His mother did bind his black eye in a fig leaf poultice and tell him fighting were not good for little lads. I remember yet his face as he did make answer, 'Woman, know'st thou not our father David did smite a giant which did torment Jehovah's chosen ones? Even so did I smite him who was plucking hair from the head of a feeble child who could do naught but cry out.
And since every new orb has added to the lustre of Jehovah's glory, another world to His kingdom, another jewel to His crown, these discoveries, by exalting God still higher, have added point and power to the old question, "What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the Son of man, that thou visitest him?"
Ancient believers were bidden to write God's words on the palms of their hands, the doorposts of their houses, and on their gates, so that the employments of their hands, their goings out and comings in, their personal and home life, might be constant reminders of Jehovah's everlasting faithfulness.
They ended up at the restaurant, John Dominis, at a table with too many glasses, sea bass, snapper, and mahi-mahi, salads, desserts . . . No one wanted to stop. Morgan told a long story that began with a knock on his door one winter afternoon. A Jehovah's Witness had wandered up the mountain to proselytize.
Accordingly he bethought himself of a new way of explaining and meeting the imminent catastrophe. The prophets, for to them the revolution in question was due, conceived that the cause of Israel's misfortunes might be not Jehovah's weakness but his wrath a wrath kindled against the immorality, lukewarmness, and infidelity of the people.
It is easy to see, therefore, that kindred aims and ideals actuated these unknown prophetic writers and their later successors, Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Their literary products differ only because their subject-matter is different. The one group records Jehovah's revelation of himself through the life of the Messianic nation, the other through the life of the perfect Messiah.
Jehovah's friend David, a man after his own heart, mutilated no less than four hundred men, and gave their foreskins to his wife as a dowry. Incurring Jehovah's displeasure and wishing to conciliate him, he attacked certain cities, captured their inhabitants, and cut them in pieces with saws, axes, and harrows. Jehovah is particularly savage towards females.
Labor creates property, law secures liberty, but God alone gives life; and woe to that tribunal, to those consecrated priests of divine justice, who, sworn to lay aside passion and prejudice, and to array themselves in the immaculate robes of a juror's impartiality, yet profane the loftiest prerogative with which civilized society can invest mankind, and sacrilegiously extinguish, in the name of justice, that sacred spark which only Jehovah's fiat kindles.
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