This is indeed a beautiful world.
As we sit by our window, and gaze out upon the landscape
that lies spreads out, diversified by hill and dale,
and and waving tree and murmuring rivulet; as we listen
to the warbling of the birds, the dreamy hum of the
insects, and the low whispering of the soft summer
air, as it floats by, redolent with perfume of flowers,
we are deeply impressed with the truth, that the Being,
who could create such a world, must be a great and
glorious Being, before whom we ought to humble ourselves
in deep humility.
Yet the little that we are able to
behold at one view, is but as a grain of sand upon
the sea-shore, compared with the vast world that lies
stretched out beyond our vision. Diversified by
lofty mountains, whose snow-capped summits tower far
up towards the blue vault of heaven, and are covered
with perpetual clouds and mists; the mighty ocean,
whose bosom heaves, and moans, and wails, as though
convulsed by some terrible agony, and which, in its
frantic fits, rages with ungovernable fury; the deep,
broad, glassy rivers, that flow in quiet beauty, to
mingle their waters with the ocean, the foaming cataract,
the broad green prairie, variegated by nature’s
choicest flowers, the old majestic woods, that have
been styled nature’s cathedral, whose dim, silent,
far-stretching aisles have never been trodden by the
foot of man; but I must stop, overwhelmed by the magnitude
of my subject. It were impossible for the most
gifted pen to do justice to the beauty, the grandeur,
the sublimity of the theme.
Even those who have climbed the lofty
mountain tops, and found themselves lost amidst the
clouds, who have been rocked upon the bosom of the
heaving ocean, and seen it when the elements held terrible
contest, when the howling winds lashed its waves to
wild frenzy, when the sheeted lightnings played upon
its surface, and the deep, heavy peals of thunder
reverberated through the heaven’s vast concave,
and those, too, who have traversed the broad prairie,
that far as the eye can reach, stretches out in wavy
undulations, who have heard the eternal thunder of
the cataract, as its waters plunge madly into the
abyss below, who have wandered amidst orange bowers
and spicy groves, and as Pollock expresses it, “have
mused on ruins grey with years, and drank from old
and fabulous wells, and plucked the vine that first
born prophets plucked; and mused on famous tombs, and
on the waves of ocean mused, and on the desert waste:
the heavens and earth of every country, seen where’er
the old inspiring Genii dwelt, aught that could rouse,
expand, refine the soul,” even such would fail
to do justice to the glowing theme.
What renders the pleasure that nature
confers doubly valuable, is, that it is free for all.
The poor as well as the rich participate in its enjoyment.
The sun dispenses its genial light and warmth as generously
upon the beggar, who seeks his daily bread from door
to door, as upon the crowned monarch. The bird
carols as sweet a lay for the toil-worn peasant, who
labors from morn till night, to gain a scanty subsistence,
as for the titled nobleman, who rolls along in his
gilded chariot. The little ragged sunburnt child
of poverty may pluck the wayside flowers with as much
freedom as the child of wealth, who is nurtured upon
the lap of luxury and ease. The cool summer breeze,
laden with grateful perfume, fans the hot brow of the
slave, weary and fainting beneath his task, as freely
as it does that of his pompous and lordly master.
Our souls seem to be united by a bond of sympathy,
with the inanimate objects of creation. There
are many poor beings who are obliged to toil from
early dawn far into the hours of night, to obtain
bread for themselves and those who are dearer to them
than life, and who have never been instructed, even
in the first rudiments of science. Yet, are they
conscious of possessing bright gems of thought, which
they find it impossible to detach from the dust and
rubbish and cobwebs of ignorance, with which their
minds are filled. There are many such, who, bound
down by the grinding hand of oppression, which would,
if it were possible, crush out all aspirations of
the mind for something higher, nobler, more exalted
in the scale of being, are obliged to suppress that
longing of the soul that will at times arise to explore
the mysterious labyrinths of knowledge, yet, even
such, can hold sweet communion with the works of creation.
The great volume of nature lies open before them, and
though, in studying its pages, they often make wild
mistakes, yet they fear no ridicule.
When they gaze upon the blue vault
of heaven, bespangled with all its countless gems,
though the conclusions they arrive at are far very
far from truth, yet the placid moon looks down upon
them as queenly as though they understood all the
laws by which she is governed. As they contemplate,
with wonder and admiration, the shining stars with
which the brow of night is studded, though they understood
not all the principles that astronomy unfolds, concerning
those heavenly bodies, yet, no scornful light flashes
from those brilliant orbs, as they look down from
their high estate; and although they do sometimes emit
a merry twinkle, yet, there is nothing of ridicule
in the expression: but it seems rather to woo
the beholder, to gaze upon their wondrous beauty.
The sweet flowers look up to them
as lovingly inviting them to partake of their precious
sweets, as though they understood all their several
properties, and knew how to assign to each its place
in the vegetable kingdom. It is true, the poor
possess not all the means of the rich for exploring
what is rare and curious in the works of nature.
They are obliged to confine themselves to what is
presented to their view in their own immediate neighborhood;
but there is enough even in the tamest prospect, to
excite the wonder and admiration of the beholder,
and to inspire them with emotions of love and gratitude
towards the great Creator.
Yet, grand and beautiful and sublime
as this world is, God has only fitted it up as a temporary
abode for man; he does not consider it a fit dwelling
place for his children to inhabit through all eternity.
We are told that when the “spirits of the just
made perfect” leave this world, they will go
to a better world: a more costly and magnificent
abode, that God has prepared for them. Yes, costly
indeed, since a title to an inheritance in that better
world is purchased by the blood of his only Son; and
we are told that it is not in the heart of man to
concieve of the glory and magnificence of that place,
that is to be the home of those who accept of the
terms by which it is to be secured; and what are those
terms? why, merely to repent and believe on the Lord
Jesus Christ, and to seek forgivness for our sins
through his blood.
To put our trust in God, to love him
supremely, and to seek to do his will; and are not
these conditions very easy? Can we help loving
such a God, so great, so good, and who has been at
such infinite pains, and given such a costly sacrifice
to secure the happiness of his subjects? And
can we help loving the Saviour who was willing to be
made a sacrifice to secure the eternal happiness of
a lost and ruined race; and who left a home of glory,
of bliss, and joy inexpressible, to come to a world
where he must suffer persecution, contempt, and mockery;
where he would be reviled, and spit upon, and taunted,
and finally die a cruel and ignominous death upon
the cross?
All this he suffered, that sinners
through his sufferings might receive a title to the
joys of that better world that God has prepared for
those that love him. 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.”