Son Le Vie Di Chi Die L'Esser Al Niente.


When our southern sky is overloaded with huge, thick, dark masses, and claps
of thunder warn us of the pending storm, then a gale of wind is roaring
in space, doing battle with the bush, cowing down man and beast, sweeping away
all manner of rottenness. This fury spares not, and desolation is the threat
of the thunder.

A kind Providence must be blessed even in the whirlwind. Big, big drops
of rain fight their way through the gale; soon the drops muster in legions,
and the stronger the storm, the stronger those legions. At last they conquer;
then it pours down--that is, the flood is made up of legions of torrents.

Is the end of the world now at hand? Look at the victorious rainbow!
it reminds man of the covenant of our God with Noah, not far from this
southern land. The sun restores confidence that all is right again as before,
and nature, refreshed and bolder, returns again to her work.

Hence, the storm is life.

Not so is the case with fire. Devouring everything, devouring itself,
fire seems to leave off its frenzy, only to devour the sooner any mortal thing
that comes in the way to retard destruction. A few embers, then a handful
of ashes, are the sole evidence of what was once kingly or beggarly.

Fire may destroy, consume, devour, but has no power to reduce to 'nothing.'

Hence the calamity of fire is death.