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Show The Miracle to Come It was very dark and still outside. The stars were distant, dis-tant, twinkling pinholes in a monster black velvet curtain that covered the sky. Beneath them the countryside lay silent and white, and the wind that had disturbed the afternoon had gone lurching over the horizon to rest. But although the air semed so still it was in reality lull of activity. Impalpable waves and currents, not to be detected de-tected by any of man's senses, coursed back and forth in the darkness. They swept over field and river and forest and dity alike, undisturbed save only when they struck fine coils and loops of thin wire, cunningly arranged. These wires translated them, gave them body. Instead of being invisible, mysterious currents, they became music, laughter, words of greeting and strains of distant trumpets and the man in the Iowa farmhouse of the Atlanta apartment entered into communication with brothers on the other side of the world. Old stuff, already. We have come face to face, with too many miracles to be amazed. ' And yet tne miracle of radio is a useful one to us. Useful Use-ful aside from the fact that it makes the poorest drudge on earth master of the world's greatest music by virtue of fine wires and copper plates ; useful because it prepares the way, in our minds, for a much greater miracle that is to come. This new miracle that is to come is like radio m that it operates in ways that we seldom recognize and never understand. under-stand. Mysterious waves transmit it from nation to nation, in "spite of "high-peaked mountains and frost bound seas; but customs officials never see it. What is it? Nothing and everything; the steadily growing, ever-rising sense of the brotherhood of man and the unity of human peoples. . It has been centuries on the way. Sometimes the going has been hard, and for generations the invisible waves of sympathy between man and man have seemed dead ; but at other timer, they flow in mighty floods, that send a bastille toppling or drag the czar of all the Russians down to everlasting ever-lasting oblivion. The crackle of muskets on Bunker Hill sent them throbbing across the Atlantic; Caribaldi put new vigor into them ; the rope that hanged old John Brown gave them an extra pulse of life. And always, bit bv bit, the force of these waves increflses. Dimly and little bv little, we come to realize that kindness and neighborlincss and tolerance will yet lap the whole earth and give us peace, harmony and happiness without limit. It may be still a dream, but it is a dream that will come true. |