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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction - Volume 14, No. 406, December 26, 1829 by Various
page 5 of 48 (10%)
which I would endeavour now to preserve a faint transcript. Come then,
let us unite our ideas, let us speak together, but let us yet mention as
present, those beatific thoughts and imaginings which are indeed past.
Let us ever remember and cherish in our heart of hearts those golden
fore-tastes of future eternity, or (according to Platonism) those
rapturous reminiscences of past, which prove beyond logical
demonstration, the existence of some vital principle in man, godlike in
faculties, in essence immaterial, in duration, immortal! It is Christmas
Day, a deep, unearthly calm possesses our minds; all passions are
slumbering, save the beautiful and holy ones of adoring love, mingled
with overwhelming gratitude towards our maker, 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
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