An exquisite joy, innocent as that of childhood, pervades
the bosom of truth's soldier in his hours of peace and rest, and he
lifts an eye of rapture to heaven--to God."
Alfred dwelt earnestly upon the noble countenance of the speaker,
and his bosom filled with unwonted emotion, as the heavenly
sweetness of the old man's smile penetrated into his inward soul.
Goodness stood before him in its wonderful power, and he bowed down
his soul in worship. How insignificant then seemed his individual
yearnings after present enjoyment, instead of that celestial love
which can fill a human soul with so strong a power from on high. He
reflected upon that venerable being's life--so strong and upright;
he dwelt upon his large and noble heart, which could clasp the world
in its embrace. He remembered months of acute suffering, both
physical and mental, which had been endured with the stillness of a
martyr's inward strength; and then, too, he recalled times when that
aged heart was more truly and deeply joyful than his own young
spirit had even been. Both relapsed into the eloquent silence of
absorbing thought. It was evident from the softened and meditative
cast of Alfred's features, that his bitterness had given way to the
true tenderness of feeling it so often quelled; he revolved in his
mind all that had been advanced by his grandfather, and he dwelt
upon every point with candour and serious reflection.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290