[Boston—Sunday, 20 January 1867]

Sunday morning. Perfect day; a soft mist in the distance through which the windows of distant houses gleamed like jewels in the morning air. Started early and walked to church in Roxbury. Dr Putnam preached one of those marvellous discourses of his, so touching, so heroic, yet so reticent; unequalled, unrivalled by any living preacher it has ever been my lot to hear. In a somewhat different manner his other-worldliness produces somewhat the same effect as that of Dr Channing, say those who were blessed in hearing that great man.

The text was from the words of St. Paul, “we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses” and the hymn of preparation for the discourse was that noble one of Dr Doddridge which never seemed more impressive than when sung by those lovely voices yesterday unaccompanied by any organ

 

Awake my soul stretch every nerve

And press with vigor on

A heavenly race demands thy zeal

And an immortal crown.

The encompassing cloud of witnesses urging us to new struggle and farther heights had been seen by him in clear spiritual vision. He could tell us of them. Of the grand & heroic and lowly ones whom the Bible and all history had presented to us, for our encouragement, and of the dear ones we had all known, the gentle characters the world had made no note of, the pure women, the simple heroic men, and these were standing calling to us, surrounding and inciting us.

He rose to heights of eloquence as he spoke, of wh. he himself was totally unconscious. My, why is it that with the paper before me those glorious words will not return which thrilled me like angelic voices. Such they were—such he felt them, he had been listening to the words of his beloved who have gone before and they had taught him what he should speak. He recalled those perfect words of Longfellow which I believe I value more than all the others for their inspired truth.

 

Lives of great men all remind us

We may make our lives sublime

And departing leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time.

But better than all he said or all he quoted was the divine unconscious fervour of his speech. The angel had taught him what he should speak. He said, our witnesses, who not alone regard but report of our ways teach us distinctly that one lesson that we should live uprightly, dutifully, kindly and humbly; for our days are few and what can any worldly good avail us if we forget to listen to the loving ones who beckon us to come their way.


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