1905
Momus, in Greek fable, was the god of mockery and censure, who delighted in finding fault with gods and men. He was chosen to act as judge when there was a strife between Neptune, Minerva and Vulcan for supremacy in artistic power.
Neptune made a bull, Minerva a house and Vulcan a man. Momus declared that Neptune should have set his bull's horns farther forward for fighting purposes. He said that Minerva should have so constructed her house that it could be moved away from troublesome neighbors and that Vulcan should have made a window in the man's breast through which his thoughts could be seen.
All were so annoyed at his criticisms that they turned him out of heaven, and soon after this he died of vexation because he could find no fault in Venus, the goddess of love and beauty.
Showing posts with label fable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fable. Show all posts
Monday, July 16, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Practical Religion As Great Sculptor Felt It in His Life
1917
John Bacon, the noted English sculptor, whose genius was immortalized in prose by Lord Macaulay and in verse by the poet Cowper, was a man of pronounced and practical piety. No matter how much he was occupied with business, how exalted by applause, or how tempted by wealth, religion was always his greatest concern.
One day when Bacon was hard at work in his studio a lady visited him, and in the course of the conversation he happened to make a remark about religion. The lady then said: "My religion is to fear God and to keep the commandments." Then she showed plainly that she did not care to discuss religion any further; whereupon Bacon said quietly: "Do you not recollect that it is said, 'They that fear the Lord spake often one to another?'"
In other words, he believed that if two people with true religious feeling met they should never be afraid or feel embarrassed to talk about their religion.
On the day of his death, Bacon desired to bear such testimony that it would be lasting and have a good influence upon others, and so he dictated the following and requested that it be placed near his grave:
What I was as an Artist
Seemed to me of some importance
While I lived; but
What I really was as a Believer
In Christ Jesus
Is the only thing of importance
To me now.
—From Home and School.
The Source of Its Beauty
Once there was a brier growing in a ditch, and there came along a gardener with his spade. As he dug around it, and lifted it out, the brier said to itself, "What is he doing that for?" Doesn't he know that I am only an old worthless brier?" But the gardener took it into the garden and planted it amid his flowers, while the brier said, "What a mistake he has made, planting an old brier like myself among such rose trees as these!" But the gardener came once more with his keen-edged knife, made a slit in the brier, and "budded" it with a rose, and by and by when summer came, lovely roses were blooming on that old brier. Then the gardener said, "Your beauty is not due to that which came out, but to that which I put into you." This is just what Christ is doing all the time with poor human lives. — Selected.
John Bacon, the noted English sculptor, whose genius was immortalized in prose by Lord Macaulay and in verse by the poet Cowper, was a man of pronounced and practical piety. No matter how much he was occupied with business, how exalted by applause, or how tempted by wealth, religion was always his greatest concern.
One day when Bacon was hard at work in his studio a lady visited him, and in the course of the conversation he happened to make a remark about religion. The lady then said: "My religion is to fear God and to keep the commandments." Then she showed plainly that she did not care to discuss religion any further; whereupon Bacon said quietly: "Do you not recollect that it is said, 'They that fear the Lord spake often one to another?'"
In other words, he believed that if two people with true religious feeling met they should never be afraid or feel embarrassed to talk about their religion.
On the day of his death, Bacon desired to bear such testimony that it would be lasting and have a good influence upon others, and so he dictated the following and requested that it be placed near his grave:
What I was as an Artist
Seemed to me of some importance
While I lived; but
What I really was as a Believer
In Christ Jesus
Is the only thing of importance
To me now.
—From Home and School.
The Source of Its Beauty
Once there was a brier growing in a ditch, and there came along a gardener with his spade. As he dug around it, and lifted it out, the brier said to itself, "What is he doing that for?" Doesn't he know that I am only an old worthless brier?" But the gardener took it into the garden and planted it amid his flowers, while the brier said, "What a mistake he has made, planting an old brier like myself among such rose trees as these!" But the gardener came once more with his keen-edged knife, made a slit in the brier, and "budded" it with a rose, and by and by when summer came, lovely roses were blooming on that old brier. Then the gardener said, "Your beauty is not due to that which came out, but to that which I put into you." This is just what Christ is doing all the time with poor human lives. — Selected.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
The Scarlet-Tufted Woodpecker — A Legend
1874
Tap, tap, tap!
What a busy little creature, the brown birdie with, a scarlet crown! See her running up the trunk of the large elm by our door, striking the rough, bark with her long beak — tap, tap, tap! — stopping a moment, her pretty head held sideways as if listening, then hopping so fast half around the tree, and tapping again, with now and then a blithe chirp. Pretty, useful little woodpecker! While she gets her daily food she is keeping, tiny as she is the great elm sound and fair. Well may we love the birdies, one and all, for their beauty and song and the many sweet lessons they bring us, as they wing their way from bough to bough, seek their daily bread and nurse their tiny broods in wind-rocked cradles — lessons of love and kindness and industry and trust in a Father's care.
There is a northern legend of the woodpecker that, though it is hardly fair toward the bird, is yet a pretty story. It runs in this way:
Long ago, when St. Peter was traveling about and teaching the people, he was poor, and often went hungry. One morning at sunrise he came to a cottage where a woman in a brown dress and scarlet cape was making cakes. He asked her for a single one, and at first she said yes, and rolled out a small cake. She put it down to bake, but kept looking at it, and soon concluded it was more than she wanted to give. So she kneaded out another, a smaller one; but when it was baking, that, too, seemed large to her. All this time Peter was waiting quietly, patiently, though faint with hunger. She took the tiny bits of dough, put them together and rolled out a tiny cake, thin as a wafer; but when it was baked, she wanted even that.
"My cakes seem small when I eat them myself," said she, "but they are too large to give away, for all that." So she put even the wafer-like cake on the shelf.
Then Peter made indignant answer: "Thou art far too selfish, too mean, to wear a human form, to have a home to shelter thee, clothes and food and fire. Thou shalt live hereafter as the birds do, build in the trees, and get thy living by constant labor, boring, boring, all day in hard, dry wood."
Then up through the chimney went she without a word. Out from the top flew a woodpecker. The little scarlet cap was still on her head, and her dress, changed to feathers, was covered with soot. And from that day to this — so runs the legend — she has been in the wood tapping trees for a scanty living, and every child knows her sooty dress and scarlet hood.
Now, though it is only a legend, and the woodpecker is as good as she is pretty, it will be worth something to us, when we see her, to remember that story, if it lead us to shun every form of selfishness, and pity and help the needy as far as in our power.
You may not be changed to a bird, though you live as selfishly as you can, but you will be changed to a smaller thing, a mean and selfish man. — Children's Hour.
Tap, tap, tap!
What a busy little creature, the brown birdie with, a scarlet crown! See her running up the trunk of the large elm by our door, striking the rough, bark with her long beak — tap, tap, tap! — stopping a moment, her pretty head held sideways as if listening, then hopping so fast half around the tree, and tapping again, with now and then a blithe chirp. Pretty, useful little woodpecker! While she gets her daily food she is keeping, tiny as she is the great elm sound and fair. Well may we love the birdies, one and all, for their beauty and song and the many sweet lessons they bring us, as they wing their way from bough to bough, seek their daily bread and nurse their tiny broods in wind-rocked cradles — lessons of love and kindness and industry and trust in a Father's care.
There is a northern legend of the woodpecker that, though it is hardly fair toward the bird, is yet a pretty story. It runs in this way:
Long ago, when St. Peter was traveling about and teaching the people, he was poor, and often went hungry. One morning at sunrise he came to a cottage where a woman in a brown dress and scarlet cape was making cakes. He asked her for a single one, and at first she said yes, and rolled out a small cake. She put it down to bake, but kept looking at it, and soon concluded it was more than she wanted to give. So she kneaded out another, a smaller one; but when it was baking, that, too, seemed large to her. All this time Peter was waiting quietly, patiently, though faint with hunger. She took the tiny bits of dough, put them together and rolled out a tiny cake, thin as a wafer; but when it was baked, she wanted even that.
"My cakes seem small when I eat them myself," said she, "but they are too large to give away, for all that." So she put even the wafer-like cake on the shelf.
Then Peter made indignant answer: "Thou art far too selfish, too mean, to wear a human form, to have a home to shelter thee, clothes and food and fire. Thou shalt live hereafter as the birds do, build in the trees, and get thy living by constant labor, boring, boring, all day in hard, dry wood."
Then up through the chimney went she without a word. Out from the top flew a woodpecker. The little scarlet cap was still on her head, and her dress, changed to feathers, was covered with soot. And from that day to this — so runs the legend — she has been in the wood tapping trees for a scanty living, and every child knows her sooty dress and scarlet hood.
Now, though it is only a legend, and the woodpecker is as good as she is pretty, it will be worth something to us, when we see her, to remember that story, if it lead us to shun every form of selfishness, and pity and help the needy as far as in our power.
You may not be changed to a bird, though you live as selfishly as you can, but you will be changed to a smaller thing, a mean and selfish man. — Children's Hour.
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