Oh how cold, how hard, how utterly lost to
all grateful emotions, must that heart be that could treat with scorn
or indifference that dear Saviour who has done so much for them, and
prepared for all who will accept, a happy entrance into a world of
ineffable light and glory.
Where the sun does not emit its golden beams, nor the moon shed
her paler rays, and no golden star spangles the canopy, but God's
countenance lights the place, and the Lamb is in the midst; He who was
offered for the remission of sin. Who would not enter this world, of
happiness, where sin enters not, pain or sickness come not, and death
is swallowed up in victory? Where the saints of the most high God are
clothed upon with the righteousness of Christ, and the "spirits of the
just made perfect" join with angels and arch-angels, in singing sweet
songs of redeeming love.
But angels cannot appreciate the full rapture of the redeemed soul.
We cannot comprehend here, fully, but the mind is overwhelmed when
we contemplate the revelations of the Gospel, "Come then expressive
silence, muse His praise."
On the Death of Willie White, Who Was Drowned Sept. 21, 1856.
How suddenly this opening flow'r
Was borne from earth away;
In sweeter fragrance to unfold
In realms of endless day.
The angel gaz'd with pitying eye
O'er all life's devious way;
Then pluming bright his golden wings,
Bore his freed soul away.
Now when you gather round your hearth,
There's Willie's vacant chair;
And Willie's voice of childish mirth,
Is missing every where.
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