It was an ideal Christmas morning,--clean and beautiful. Such a wealth
of purity was in the air that all the world was clothed with it. The
earth accepted the beneficence of the skies, and the trees bent in
thankfulness for their beautiful covering. It was a morning to make one
thoughtful,--to make one thankful, too, for home and friends and
country, and a future that could be earned, where the white folds of
usefulness and purity would cover man's inheritance of selfishness and
passion.
For an hour I watched the big flakes fall; and, as I watched, I dreamed
the dream of peace for all the world. The brazen trumpet of war was a
thing of the past. The white dove of peace had built her nest in the
cannon's mouth and stopped its awful roar. The federation of the world
was secured by universal intelligence and community of interest. Envy
and selfishness and hypocrisy, and evil doing and evil speaking, were
deeply covered by the snowy mantle that brought "peace on earth and good
will to men."
My dream was not dispelled by any rude awakening.
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