TWILIGHT.--The dewy morning of childhood has passed, and the noon ofyouth has gone, and the gloom of twilight is gathering over myspirit. Alas! alas! how my heart sinks in a wan despair! One by onemy hopes have died out, have faded like the gleams of sunshine thathave just vanished beneath the grove of trees. Hopes! Ah, such warm,bright, beautiful, loving hopes! But, methinks, than lived upon theearth, unlike the gleaming rays of sunshine that are fed fromheaven. The earth's darkness dims not their glory; pure and radiantthey shine behind the black shadow. But human hopes are earth-born;they spring from the earth, like the flitting light of night, andlead us into bogs and quagmires.
Yet it is beautiful to realize that we have had hopes; they are thepast light of the soul, and their glow yet lingers in this gloomytwilight, reminding one that there has been a sunny day, andmemories of things pleasant and joyous mingle with the presentloneliness and cheerless desolation.
Words, that excited hopes, that awoke thrilling emotions, linger onthe listening ear. But, ah! the heart grows very sad, when the earlistens in vain, and the yearning, unsatisfied spirit realizes thatthe words, so loved, so fondly dwelt upon, were but words, empty,vain words. But, to have believed them, was a fleeting blindness.They served for food to the yearning heart, when they were given,and shall the traveller through the desolate wilderness look backwith scorn upon the bread and water that once satisfied his hungerand thirst, even though it is now withheld? No--let him be thankfulfor the past; otherwise, the keen biting hunger, the thirsty anguishof the soul, will have a bitterness and a gall in it, that willcorrode his whole being. Ah! what is this being? if one could butunderstand one's own existence, what a relief it would be; but tounderstand nothing--alas!
Life is a weary burden. I feel weighed down with it, and I do notknow what is in the pack that bows me so wearily to the earth. I doknow that in it are agonized feelings, bitter disappointments, and adesolation of the heart. But there is a something else in it; for,now and then, come vague, vast perceptions of a dim future; but Ishut my eyes. I cannot look beyond the earth. I could have beensatisfied here with a very little; a little of human love would havemade me so happy. Yes, I would never have dreamed of an unknownheaven. Heaven! What is heaven? I remember when I was a littlechild, lying on my bed in the early morning twilight (ah! that was atwilight, unlike this, which is sinking into a black night, for thatwas ushering in the beautiful golden day), but it was twilight whenI looked through the uncurtained window; and through theintertwining branches of a noble tree I saw the far, dim, mistysky--and I wondered, in my childish way, "if heaven is like that;"and all at once it seemed to me that the dim, distant sky opened,and my dead mother's face looked out upon me so beautifully, I didnot know her, for she died when I was an unconscious infant, and yetI did know her. Yes, that beautiful face was my mother's, and myheart was full of delight. That my mother could see me, and love me,from the far heavens, was like a revelation to me. And often, onother mornings, I awakened and looked through the very same branchesof the tree, out into the far sky, and thought to see my mother'sface shining through the window and watching over her lonely,sleeping child. But my fancy never again conjured up the vision.Fancy! What is fancy? If one could but understand, could grasp thephantom and mystery of life! And above all, if one could butunderstand what heaven is!
When I was a child, heaven was to me a peopled place, a wonderfulreality; and I remember a dream that I had--what a strange dream itwas! For I went to heaven, and I saw a shining One, sitting on athrone, and many beautiful ones were standing and seated around thethrone, and my father and mother were there; and they had crowns ontheir heads, and held each other by the hand, and looked down uponme so lovingly. I knew that it was my father, because my mother heldhim by the hand, though my father died the day I was born, and Istood before them in the great light of a Heavenly Presence, as sucha poor little earth-child, but I was happy, inexpressibly happy,only they did not touch me; but I was not fit to be touched by suchsoft, shining hands. And what was yet a greater joy than ever to seemy unknown father and mother on the other side of the throne, I sawmy brother, my dear, gentle, beautiful little brother, who, sevenyears older than I, had loved and played with me on the earth. Hewas clothed in white garments, and was grown from a child to ayouth, and was so full of a noble and beautiful grace. He smiledupon me; he did not speak; none spoke. All was so still, and serene,and bright, and beautiful. Next morning I awoke as if yet in mydream, so vivid was the whole scene before me. I could have dancedand sung all day, "I have seen my father and mother and brother inthe heavenly courts." But what are dreams?
Yet, it is wonderful to go back to the dreams and thoughts ofchildhood; they are so distinct; such living realities. I oftenremember a speech I made in those far childish days. I was lying inbed with a friend in the early gray morning. All at once I startedup and said--"Oh, how I wish I had lived in the days when Jesuslived upon the earth!"
I was asked why? And I replied, "Because I could have loved Him; Iwould have followed as those women followed Him; I would have kissedthe hem of His garment."
A laugh checked the further flow of my talk; but I lay down again,and then my thoughts wandered off to the mountains of Judea, and Isaw a Divine Man walking over the hills and valleys, and womenfollowing Him. In those days I knew two passages in the Bible, andthat was all that I knew of it, for I never read it. But I learnedat Sunday school, Christ's Sermon on the Mount, and the first fiveverses of the first chapter of John. And I remember how confused Ialways was over the WORD, for some told me it meant "Logos."
What was "Logos?" I could never fathom it. Now I know what"Logos" means. And yet the mystery is not fathomed. Well, let thatgo. I could never understand the Bible. However, in those days itwas something holy and sacred to me; because the Bible that I ownedbelonged to my dear father, and I often kissed it, and loved theBook dearly, but I could not read it by myself. But I did readoccasionally in the Bible, to an old woman; she lived on the way tothe village school, in a dilapidated, deserted country store; sheoccupied the little back room, in which was a fire-place, and I waspermitted to take a flask of milk to her every day, as I passed toschool; and with what a glad heart I always hurried off in themorning, that I might gather broken brush-wood and dried sticks, forher to kindle her fire with. Charitable people sent her wood, but itwas wet and hard to kindle, and the poor old woman, with her bentback, would go out and painfully gather the dried sticks that layaround her desolate home; but when I came, she would take my bookand dinner-basket into her house, and leave me the delight ofgathering the sticks. Ah! I was happy then--when I knelt on the rudehearth and blew with my mouth instead of a bellows, the smoking,smouldering wood into a blaze, and heard the loving words that thegood old woman lavished upon me. She loved me--but not as much as Iloved her. She was my peculiar treasure--something for me to livefor, and think of. I always left my dinner with her, and at noonreturned to eat it with her; though I would feel almost ashamed tospread out the cold meat and bread before her, she looked so muchlike a lady.
But she always asked a blessing; that was what I never did, and itgave me an awe-stricken feeling, and my meal would have something ofa solemn and tender interest--what with the blessing, and the oldwoman's love for me, and mine for her--and we ate it in a solemn andgloomy room, for there was no table in the little back room, so weused the counter of the old store; and the empty shelves and theclosed doors and shutters, with only the light from the back-door,made me often look around shudderingly into the gloom and obscurityof dark corners--for I abounded in superstitious terrors, and Ipitied the poor, lonely old woman for living in such a home morethan I ever pitied the cold and hunger she endured.
Often when our dinner was over, I read aloud to her in the Bible.She could read it herself. But perhaps she liked to hear the soundof a childish voice, and perhaps she thought that she was doing megood. Did she do me good? heigho!--at all events, she left abeautiful memory to gild this dark twilight that grows upon my soul.
But the loving, trusting childhood is gone, and why do I dwell uponit? Why does its sensitive life yet move and stir in my memory? Hasit aught to do with the cold, dark present? The Present! Alas! whata contrast it is to that childish faith! I almost wish that I couldnow believe as I did then. But no. Reason has dissipated thevisions and dreams and superstitions of childhood. It has madeunreal to me that which was most real. In its cold, chilling light,I have looked into the world of tangible facts and possiblerealities.
Ah! this cold, cold light, how much of beauty and love it hascongealed! It has fallen like a mantle of snow over the warm, livinglife of the earth; and blooming flowers, that sent up odours on thesoft air, have crumbled to dust, and bright summer waters thatreflected the heavens in their blue depths, and glittered in thelight of stars and moon and sun, have now been congealed into solid,dull opaque masses, which yield not to the tread of man. Alas! nobird of beauty dips its wing in these dead waters, and plumes itselffor an aerial flight of love and joy. But the cold contractionchains down all the freer, beautiful life, into a hopeless, chillinginanity.
MIDNIGHT.--The gloom has gathered into a darkness that may be felt;and seeing nothing, I would stretch forth my hands to feel if thereis anything within my mind to stay my soul upon. But, alas! in adeep sorrow, how little do mental acquisitions avail! All thebeautiful systems and theories that delighted my intelligence, andfilled my thought in my noon of hope and life, have sunk intodarkness. How is this? Sometimes I think that all light comesthrough the heart into the mind; and when love is quenched, behold,there is only darkness; the beauty and life and joy are gone. Ah,woe is me! Have I nothing left?--no internal resources--no wealth ofknowledge, with which to minister to this poverty of hope and life?It cannot be that all past efforts, all struggles andself-sacrifices, to attain this coveted and natural knowledge, wereuseless, vain mockeries. I thought I should live by this knowledge;that when the outer life palled upon me, I could then retire withinmy own being to boundless stores of riches and beauty. Well--thistime has come, and what do I find? Truly it is no Aladdin-palace,glittering with gold and gems. It is more like a cavernous depth,stored with rubbish, and from its dark deeps comes up an earthyodour, that almost suffocates my spirit. But this is my all, and Imust descend from the life of the heart to the life of the mind, andscan my unsatisfactory possessions.
Well, here is a world of childish, school-day lumber. Once it was agreat delight to me to learn that the world was round, and notsquare; but I cannot see that a knowledge of that fact affords meany great satisfaction now, for it has shaped itself to me as anacute angle. And the earth's surface! how I used to glow with theexcitement of the bare thought of Rome! and Athens! andConstantinople! and their thrilling histories and wonders of art,and beauties of nature, seemed to me an indefinite world ofunattainable delight and ecstasy. But now, I have lived in all theseplaces, and the light and glory have gone. They have fallen withinthe freezing light of reason. They are no longer like beautifuldreams to me. They are squared down into fixed, unalterable facts. Icannot gild them with any light of fancy; and I cannot extract fromthem anything like the delight of my childhood. So I will turn fromthese fixed facts and look out for those philosophical theories,that gave me a later delight, as more interior mental pleasure.
Well, when I first broke through the shackles of the old childishfaith, Percy Bysshe Shelley was my high-priest. Through him Ithought I had come into a beautiful light of nature, vague, shadowy,and grand, filling vast conceptions of the indefinite. He discardedthe God of the Hebrews, who was fashioned after their own narrow,revengeful passions; a Being of wrath and war. And a broodingspirit, an indefinite indwelling life of nature, was a newrevelation to me. I grew mystical and sublime and sentimental, inthis new mental perception. But I wearied of that. I could not walkon stilts always, and I descended to the earth and read Voltaire,and laughed and sneered at all the old forms and superstitions ofman. But this does not afford me any enjoyment now--the unhappy donot feel like laughing at a ribald wit; but, alas! this rubbish isstored here, and here I must live with it. It blackened and blurredthe pictures of the angels, that adorned my childish memories. Itwiped out all heavenly visions, and left only the earthly life.
But the human heart cannot live without a God; and I tried hard tomake one, for myself, through German pantheism. But I turn thisrubbish over disconsolately, for it is a material God, and does notrespond to one spiritual nature. It seems rather to react againstit. Alas! alas! I sink down into a Cimmerian darkness here; it seemsas if the Stygian pools of blackness had closed over me, and a cryof anguish goes forth from my inmost soul, piercing the dark depthsto learn what is spirit? and what is God? What manner of existenceor unity of Being is He? Who is He? Where is He? And how can Iattain to a knowledge of Him? But through the echoing halls of mydark mind, there is only a wailing sound of woe, of misery, ofdisappointment, of a yearning anguish of spirit for a somethinghigher and better than I have ever yet conceived of or known.
But there is yet more of this mental rubbish. Ah! here is a wholechapter of stuff--and I once thought it was so wise. I called it the"progressive chain of being," and wove it out of the Pythagoreanphilosophy. I said man's nature begins from the lowest, and ascendsto the highest. Nature gives the impulse to life; and the flowerthat blooms in South America may die, and its inner spirit mayclothe itself in a donkey born in Greece! and so it goes ontransfusing itself from clime to clime, in ever new and higherforms, until man is developed. Well, was there ever such stuffconcocted before? I almost hear the bray of that donkey, whooriginated in a flower. And pray, most sapient self! what is nature?It seems now, to me, a form, a mere dead incubus of matter. Andcould this inert tangible matter, sublimate in its hard, dead bosom,an essence so subtle, as to be freer of the bonds of time and space?At such a preposterous suggestion even a donkey might bow his earswith shame. So I will hand this "progressive chain of being" over toa deeper darkness, and pass on.
Lo! here lie the statues of broken gods, headless divinities. Itried to believe in Greek mythology; to fancy that the world hadgone backwards, and that there were spirits of the earth and air,that took part in the life of man. But these were poetic visionsthat shifted and waved with every fleeting fancy. But now thiswould be a pleasant faith. What if I could appeal to an invisible,higher spiritual being, who sympathized with my nature, to lead meout of this darkness of ignorance into a true world of light, oftruth, of definite knowledge, concerning life and its origin;concerning God and His nature? If I were only an old Greek, how Iwould pray to Minerva for help, and call upon Hercules to removethis Augean dirt, that pollutes and lumbers all the chambers of mymind! But when the old Greeks called, were they answered? Ah, thereis nothing to hope for!
Yet Socrates believed in these spiritual existences; he ordered acock to be sacrificed to Esculapius as he was drinking the hemlock.To him, they were not mere poetic creations; he believed to the lastthat he was guided and guarded by his demon. What if we all are?What if even now, in this midnight darkness, stands a beautifulbeing, veiled by my ignorance, who loves me, from a world of light;sees the tangled web of my thoughts, and would draw it out intoform, and order, and beauty? If such there be, oh, bright andbeautiful one! pity me, love me, and enlighten me. Alas, no!--all isyet dark. What would a being revelling in light and beauty, have todo with this poor, faded life of mine? Alas! that was a fleetinghope, that, like a pale, flickering ray, gilded the darkness for amoment.
But, here is a something which gives somewhat of joy and life to themind. It is a beautiful thought of Plato, that there is a greatcentral sun in the universe, around which all other suns revolve.What if this be an inner sun, which is the fountain of spirituallife? That is something to believe. Yet the thought sinks appalledfrom it. The heart desires a God that it may love, and trust in,that it may speak to and be heard; and if the fountain of life beonly a sun, what is there to love in it? True, we rejoice in thelight and beauty of the sun that upholds this world in its place;but what is this enjoyment compared to the bliss of human love? Aman--a living, breathing, loving man--is the perfection ofexistence; and one could be happy with a perfect man, if all thesuns in the universe were blotted out. A MAN! what is he, in hisessential attributes? What is it that gives a delight in him? Ah! Iam full of ideal visions--for in all history I find not one man thataltogether fills my vision of what a man should be. From theAlexanders and Caesars I turn with loathing--their fierce, rude,outre life, their selfish, grasping ambition, suggest to me thevision of snarling wild beasts, battling over the torn andpalpitating limbs of nations. These men could never have touched mysoul; they could never have dispelled the darkness of my mind; theycould not be friends. But was there ever a man that could haveanswered the questions for the solution of which my spirit yearns?Plato was beautiful; around him was a pure, intellectual light. But,after all, he knew very little; his writings are mostlysuggestive. But suppose here was a man who could reveal all thehidden things of life? How sudden would be the delight of learningof him, of communing with his spirit? And what if he knew, not onlyeverything relating to this world, and my own intellectual being,but could tell me of all the universe, of all the after life? Oh!what a joy such a man would be to me! How would this midnightdarkness melt into the clearest and most beautiful day!
But did such an one ever exist? Why is it that now comes over me thevision of my childhood, of the Divine Man walking over the hills ofJudea? Oh, Christ! who wert Thou? My thought goes forth to Thee;beautiful was Thy life upon the earth. It had in it a heavenlysanctity, a purity, a grace and mercy, a gentleness and forbearance,that seems to me God-like and Divine. Yes--what if God descended andwalked on the earth? I could love Him, that He had lowered Himselfto my comprehension. But God! the Infinite and Eternal! in thefinite human form, undergoing death! I cannot comprehend this. Butwhat is infinity? When I look within myself and realize myever-changing and fleeting feelings, now glancing in expansiveranges of thought from star to star, I realize an infinity in mind,that is not of the body. What if it were thus with the Holy Man,Christ? What if He were God as to the spirit, and man as to theflesh? If this were so, well may I have wished "to live when Jesuswalked the earth," for He alone could have revealed all things tome. How wonderful must have been His wisdom! And if His indwellingspirit were God, then Christ yet lives--lives in some inner world oflove and beauty. Ah, beautiful hope! for, if immortality is myportion, I may yet see Him, and learn of Him in another existence.Methinks the night of my soul is passing away; upon the raylessdarkness a star has risen; a fixed star of love and hope; what iflike other fixed stars it prove a sun?
Oh, Christ! holy and beautiful Man! if Thou yet livest in far-awayrealms of light and blessedness--grant that I may see Thee, andlearn of Thy wondrous wisdom. Enlighten my darkness, and suffer meto love Thee as the Divinest type of man that my thought has yetimagined.
THE DAWN OF THE MORNING.--I have gone back to my Bible with the oldchildish love and reverence. I read it with an object now. I knowthat in it, the beautiful Christ-nature was portrayed; and I readwith infinite longings to find Him the "unknown God;" and brightrevealings come to me through this Book. I feel that it is Divine,and the light grows upon me; and sometimes like the Apostles, whoawakened in the night, and saw Christ transfigured before them, Ialso saw a transfiguration. I lose sight of the mere material man,and I perceive an inner glory of being, a radiance of wisdom, andpurity, and love, that clothe Him in a Divine light, and make Hiscountenance brilliant with a spiritual glory.
This transfiguration, what was it? My thought dwells upon it so--itwas a wonderful thing. I know that the scoffing philosophersridicule the idea of there being any reality in it; they regard iteither as a fiction on the part of the writers, or as a dream or adelusion of the senses. But I believe that it all happened just asit was narrated. For it is beautiful to believe it. If it did nothappen, I am none the worse for believing it, even if the whole lifewas a fiction, which all history proves to have been true; and hadno Christ lived upon the earth, yet, as a work of art, this fictionwould have been the highest and most beautiful dream of the humanthought. But if it is all literally true; if Christ was "Godmanifest in the flesh," how much do I gain by believing in him! Ihave attained the highest and best of all knowledge--I know GOD!
And this transfiguration becomes a wonderful revelation! It was theSpirit of God shining through the Man. And this spirit was asubstance and a form. And what was its form?--that of a man, with aface radiant as the sun. Now know I how to think of God. He is nolonger a vague, incomprehensible existence; an ether floating inspace. But He is a living, breathing human form, a Man! in whoseimage and likeness we were created. Oh, how I thank God that He hasrevealed this to me! Now, I know what manner of Being I pray to; andlike as the apostles saw Him, in His Divine spiritual human form,will I now always think of Him. I will look through His veil offlesh, I will love Him as the only God-man that ever existed.
When I think thus of the inner Divine nature, clothed in a materialbody, how wonderfully do the scenes of this drama of the life ofChrist strike me! Imagine Him, the God of the universe, standingbefore the Jewish sanhedrim, condemned, buffeted, and spit upon. Howat that moment in His inmost Divine soul, He must have glanced overthe vast creation, that He had called into being; and felt that anInfinite power dwelt in Him. One blazing look of wrathfulindignation would have annihilated that rude rabble. But He hadclothed himself in flesh, to subdue all of its evil and vilepassions; to show to an ignorant and sensual race, the grace andbeauty of a self-abnegation--a Divine pity and forgiveness. And thusdid the outer material Man die with that beautiful and touchingappeal to the Infinite-loving soul, from which the body was born:"Father! forgive them, they know not what they do." Oh, Thou! DivineJesus! make me like unto Thee in this heavenly and loving spirit.
How clear many things grow to me now! I smile when I think of theold childish trouble over the word "Logos," for this Logos, i.e. truth, has been revealed to me. In the knowledge that Christ wasthe Infinite God--the Creator of the universe, I see Him as thecentral truth. Thus Christ was the Logos,--the Word; theDivine Truth, and now I read, that "In the beginning was Christ, andChrist was with God, and Christ was God." And I am happy in thisknowledge--my thought has something to rest upon out of myself; andmy affections grow up from the earth to that wonderful Divine Man,who, after the death of the body, was seen as a man, a living man!Immortality is no longer the dream of a Plato. It is a demonstratedfact.
In my mind is the stirring of a new life, as in the light of anearly morning-glory; the voice of singing birds is in my heart, andan odour of blooming flowers expands itself in the delight of my newday. I see the morning sun in a fixed form, yet flooding worlds withthe radiations of its light and heat, and shining in its glory onthe dew-bespangled blade of grass. Oh Christ!--thou art my Sun--andI, the tiny blade of grass, rejoice in Thy Divine wisdom and love.Look down upon me, oh, Thou holy One! from the "throne of Thy glory,and the habitation of Thy Holiness," and exhale from me, through thedew of my sorrow, the incense of my love. Draw me up from the earth,even as the sun draws up the bowed plants, and let me drink in thebeautiful life of free heavenly airs.
NOON-DAY.--How the light grows! In the warm love of my soul asummer's day glows--so serene and bright, so full of ceaselessactivities, that the fruits ripen in a smiling, rosy beauty.
The living Christ hath heard my soul's prayer; and books, which Inever before heard of, have revealed to me all those wonderfultruths after which my spirit yearned.
First of all, the mystery of the Bible has been made clear to me. Isee it now as a beautiful whole. The Infinite knew from thebeginning that He was going to descend upon the earth, and take uponHimself a human nature, weak and ignorant and vicious; and that Hewas to purify and enlighten, and make Divine this fallen nature,that man might know God in a material form, and love Him. All thisis written out in the Bible.
I stand on the threshold of a wonderful science. There areinnumerable things that I do not comprehend in the Bible; but what Isee and understand awakens in me a thrilling delight, and I cannever exhaust this book; for it is full of the nerves of life; and Ican no more number them than I can count the sensitive fibres thatspread themselves from my brain, to the innumerable cellular tissuesof my skin. But as the body is full of a sentient life, so is everyword of the Bible full of an indwelling life.
And now do I recognise the good that my patient, suffering oldfriend did me in my childhood; would that I had read the Holy Bibleto her many other days. Doubtless she is now a beautiful angel inHeaven.
The angels! and Heaven! now too do I understand the inner existence;and the dreams and visions of my childhood were, after all, blessedrealities; and the dead father and the dead mother, after whom mychildish heart yearned so lovingly, were revealed to me as a livingfather and a living mother, in a wondrously beautiful life. Thus wasa warm inner love kept alive in my soul; and now I know that deathis but a new birth. As a glove is drawn from the hand, so is thebody drawn from the spirit; and, I too, will thus be born again.Life is again crowned with a beautiful hope.
Life!--and this mystery too is solved. God is the alone life, andfinite human spirits are forms receptive of life from God. God isthe soul and creation is His body--and from this infinite Divinesoul, life flows forth into every atom of the body. Beautifulthought! The Lord sits throned in the inmost, and is cognisant ofevery nerve that thrills through His boundless universe of being.Every thought and feeling that passes through my heart and mind isas clearly perceived by Him, as are the sensations of my bodyperceived by my soul. Thus are we in God, and God in us.
And how vast is the thought that suns, and their peopled worlds, areto the body of God but as the drops of blood to the finite humanbody; and who can count these drops? for as they flow forth, andback to the heart, they ever grow and change, and increase--and whocan measure the Infinite! and this Being, sentient of all things inthe universe, providing for all things; seeing all things;maintaining order, down to the minutest particle, in a system whichthe finite thought of man can never grasp--and loving his creaturesin myriads of worlds, of which man never dreamed. How inconceivablemust be His boundless wisdom, His infinite love! Can we wonder thata Soul so glowing with love, so radiant in intelligence, shouldshine as the sun? Yes--this is the Central Sun, whose spiritualbeams, pouring forth their Divine influences, creating as they goangelic and spiritual intelligences, finally ultimate themselves inmaterial suns, and material human bodies. Thus the garment of dull,opaque matter is woven by the Divine Soul, through the condensationsof His emanations. Thus, were "all things made by Him; and withoutHim was not anything made that was made;" and "in Him was life, andthe life was the light of men."
The thought sinks after this far flight--we worship and adore theInfinite. But the Lord must for ever remain apart from our weaknatures, as far as the sun is above the earth. He lives, in Hisincomprehensible self-existence, at an immeasurable distance fromus. This the Divine Man sees, and in His tender compassion andloving mercy for every human soul He creates, a twin-soul is made,that the finite may find the fullness of delight in another finiteexistence.
Oh, blessed and beautiful providence of God! that two human heartsand minds may intertwine in mutual support, and look up to theInfinite. And in the glorious sunshine of life, grow ever young andbeautiful, in an immortal youth.
Oh, ye suffering, sorrowing children of earth! turn your affectionsand hopes from the fleeting things of time; from the outside-world,to the beautiful inner spirit-life, where eternity develops ever newand varying joys. Then only can the day dawn upon the human soul,and the midnight darkness be dissipated by boundless effulgence oflight.
THE END.
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