The air of the church is sweet with incense swung by invisible censer-bearers— wild grape, field strawberry, sweet fern, roses—the subtle perfume of everything green, blossoming and earthy, stirred by the wind. Against the high altars rise curling threads of smoke, touching our hearts for those who may not come forth into the great outdoor church but must keep incense burning on homely hearths; for invalids who, having only the memory of the great cathedral, have built a sanctuary within themselves; for the very aged, beginners of life again. We must remember that they are waiting within and carry home to them what beauty we can capture,
while we wonder when He who has made the earth altogether lovely will bring it to pass that every soul shall be free to go out into it and feel himself a part of it, rest in it, and live.
Nature's Cathedral