So music sounds its keys. We know the number of
vibrations necessary for the note C of the soprano scale, and the
number that runs the pitch up to inaudibility. We know the number of
vibrations of light necessary to give us a sensation of red or violet.
These, apprehended by a sufficiently sensitive ear, pour not only light
to one organ, but tuneful harmonies to another. The morning stars do
sing together, and when worlds are gone, and heavy ears of clay laid
down, we may be able to hear them
Singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."
There are places where this music is so fine that the soft and
soul-like sounds of a zephyr in the pines would be like a storm in
comparison, and places where the fierce intensity of light in a
congeries of suns would make it seem as if all the stops of being from
piccolo to sub-bass had been drawn. No angel flying interstellar
spaces, no soul fallen overboard and left behind by a swift-sailing
world, need fear being left in awful silences.
There seems to be good evidence that electrical disturbances in the sun
are almost instantly reported and effective on the earth. It is
evident that the destructive force in cyclones is not wind, but
electricity. It is altogether likely that it is generated in the sun,
and that all the space between it and us thrills with this unknown
power.
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