How is it, then, that out of the hard soil of the Puritan
thought and character, out of the sterile rocks of the New
England conscience, have sprung flowers of poetry? From those
songless beginnings have burst, in later generations, melodies
that charm and uplift our land--now a deep organ peal filling
the air with music, now a trumpet blast thrilling the blood of
patriotism, now a drum-beat to which duty delights to march, now
a joyous fantasy of the violin bringing smiles to the lips, now
the soft vibrations of the harp that fill the eyes with tears.
What is it in the Puritan heritage, externally so bare and cold,
that makes it intrinsically so poetic and inspired?--SAMUEL
A. ELIOT.
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