men and singing women had lingered behind their fellows, and raised their
voices fitfully, and blew a careless note upon the organ. Yet, it lifted
my soul higher than all their former strains. They are gone, the sons and
daughters of music,--and the gray sexton is just closing the portal. For
six days more, there will be no face of man in the pews, and aisles, and
galleries, nor a voice in the pulpit, nor music in the choir. Was it
worth while to rear this massive edifice, to be a desert in the heart of
the town, and populous only for a few hours of each seventh day? O, but
the church is a symbol of religion! May its site, which was consecrated
on the day when the first tree was felled, be kept holy forever, a spot
of solitude and peace, amid the trouble and vanity of our week-day world!
There is a moral, and a religion too, even in the silent walls. And may
the steeple still point heavenward, and be decked with the hallowed
sunshine of the Sabbath morn!