r, and philanthropic love,
universal benevolence, to man. It is winter, but one of those delicious
days in which closing our eyes, so that we behold not sad hosts of bare
stems and branches, we may well deem that summer reigns! And a summer
indeed reigns in our bosoms! Now nature seems new and fascinating, as it
did to Adam when he wakened into life. Now, as for the first time, we
discern with unspeakable emotions, that divine affection as well as
unlimited power, which actuates and supports creation. Now we comprehend
that the universe was designed to minister happiness to myriads of
intelligent beings; but that man, by sin, frustrates the gracious
intent, and produces misery. Now the glorious golden sun seems in its
gladdening lustre, like a smile from its creator; a smile beaming
ineffable love, and joy, and peace. Now the sky, the pale, delicate,
sapphire sky, the soft, tender, inviting, enfolding, and immeasurable
sky, appears to image the mercy of its maker. Let us yet gaze upon the
sky, for it also admonishes us of other delightful things; it is
silent--it is awful--it is holy; but its silence is beautiful, and with
wordless eloquence it speaks unto our enraptured bosoms of deep,
eternal, unimaginable repose! it infuses into our breasts undefinable
ideas and sensations; it appears to our enchanted imaginations an emblem
meet of the grand dream of eternity, and our spirits seem on the verge
of quitting earth, in thrilling contemplations on the islands of that
infinite abyss, and their immortal inhabitants! We gaze in hope,
adoration, and rapture on the blue expanse, varied by delicate vapours,
sailing calmly, wondrously through it; and then occur to our memories
spontaneously, the exquisite lines translated from a _morceau_, by
Gluck, (a German poet;) and our hearts respond as each of us sighs:

"There's peace and welcome in yon sea
Of endless blue tranquillity.
Those clouds are living things!
I trace their veins of liquid gold,
I see them solemnly unfold
Their soft and fleecy wings!

These be the angels that convey
Us weary children of a day
Life's tedious nothing o'er,
Where neither passions come, nor woes
To vex the genius of repose
On death's majestic shore!"

Then do our delighted eyes wander downward; then doth earth appear a
glorious, though but a temporary palace, the gift of a gracious God to
man! then do we feel an unaccountable assurance that angels visit the