when a hymn was sung and a prayer offered, and we slept.

The sun was shining when I awoke, and opening my lattice I looked away
to, the mountains, their white heads mellowed with a glory that
inspired only thoughts of that God who made all things, and who holds
them by the power of his might. There was a stir in the village, just
enough to show the inhabitants were not sleeping away the precious
hours. A cheerful, calm reigned, in keeping with the hallowed day; the
very birds sang in a subdued and still triumphant tone, as if they
knew 'twas holy time; while the dumb cattle, feeding on the road,
cropped the brown grass noiselessly. Gliding down the broad stairway,
I opened the study door. The pastor was there, and I saw by the open
book, with the cushion before it still deeply indented, that he had
been kneeling. He advanced with his usual good-humored smile, while
his voice had the mellowed sweetness of one who had been on the mount
speaking face to face with the King of kings.

"I question if the Sabbath is as beautiful in the larger towns," said
the pastor, leading me to the deep window.

Below, the garden sloped away to a considerable distance, and the
flowers still sparkling with the dewdrops lifted their heads timidly.
"You see there is some compensation for our solitude; with less
temptations to draw away our thoughts, we are privileged to go up
through these temple gates from glory to glory. Did you ever see
anything more grand and inspiring?" and he stepped out on to the
balcony, and pointed me to a range of hills ascending gradually till
the top seemed to reach the clouds.

"Here linger yet the showers of fire,