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
beautiful domain; then that (though viewlessly) they rejoice with, they
sorrow for, (if angels can sorrow) and they minister unto "the heirs of
salvation," as they did in the days of old, and as they will do, to the