Classic Poem

This is indeed a beautiful world. As we sit by our window, and gaze
out upon the landscape that lies spreads out, diversified by hill and
dale, and and waving tree and murmuring rivulet; as we listen to the
warbling of the birds, the dreamy hum of the insects, and the low
whispering of the soft summer air, as it floats by, redolent with
perfume of flowers, we are deeply impressed with the truth, that the
Being, who could create such a world, must be a great and glorious
Being, before whom we ought to humble ourselves in deep humility.

Yet the little that we are able to behold at one view, is but as a
grain of sand upon the sea-shore, compared with the vast world that
lies stretched out beyond our vision. Diversified by lofty mountains,
whose snow-capped summits tower far up towards the blue vault of
heaven, and are covered with perpetual clouds and mists; the mighty
ocean, whose bosom heaves, and moans, and wails, as though convulsed
by some terrible agony, and which, in its frantic fits, rages with
ungovernable fury; the deep, broad, glassy rivers, that flow in quiet
beauty, to mingle their waters with the ocean, the foaming cataract,
the broad green prairie, variegated by nature's choicest flowers, the
old majestic woods, that have been styled nature's cathedral, whose
dim, silent, far-stretching aisles have never been trodden by the foot
of man; but I must stop, overwhelmed by the magnitude of my subject.
It were impossible for the most gifted pen to do justice to the
beauty, the grandeur, the sublimity of the theme.

Even those who have climbed the lofty mountain tops, and found
themselves lost amidst the clouds, who have been rocked upon the bosom
of the heaving ocean, and seen it when the elements held terrible
contest, when the howling winds lashed its waves to wild frenzy, when
the sheeted lightnings played upon its surface, and the deep, heavy
peals of thunder reverberated through the heaven's vast concave, and
those, too, who have traversed the broad prairie, that far as the
eye can reach, stretches out in wavy undulations, who have heard the
eternal thunder of the cataract, as its waters plunge madly into the
abyss below, who have wandered amidst orange bowers and spicy groves,
and as Pollock expresses it, "have mused on ruins grey with years, and
drank from old and fabulous wells, and plucked the vine that first
born prophets plucked; and mused on famous tombs, and on the waves of
ocean mused, and on the desert waste: the heavens and earth of every
country, seen where'er the old inspiring Genii dwelt, aught that could
rouse, expand, refine the soul," even such would fail to do justice to
the glowing theme.

What renders the pleasure that nature confers doubly valuable, is,
that it is free for all. The poor as well as the rich participate
in its enjoyment. The sun dispenses its genial light and warmth as
generously upon the beggar, who seeks his daily bread from door to
door, as upon the crowned monarch. The bird carols as sweet a lay for
the toil-worn peasant, who labors from morn till night, to gain a
scanty subsistence, as for the titled nobleman, who rolls along in his
gilded chariot. The little ragged sunburnt child of poverty may pluck
the wayside flowers with as much freedom as the child of wealth, who
is nurtured upon the lap of luxury and ease. The cool summer breeze,
laden with grateful perfume, fans the hot brow of the slave, weary and
fainting beneath his task, as freely as it does that of his pompous
and lordly master. Our souls seem to be united by a bond of sympathy,
with the inanimate objects of creation. There are many poor beings who
are obliged to toil from early dawn far into the hours of night, to
obtain bread for themselves and those who are dearer to them than
life, and who have never been instructed, even in the first rudiments
of science. Yet, are they conscious of possessing bright gems of
thought, which they find it impossible to detach from the dust and
rubbish and cobwebs of ignorance, with which their minds are filled.
There are many such, who, bound down by the grinding hand of
oppression, which would, if it were possible, crush out all
aspirations of the mind for something higher, nobler, more exalted in
the scale of being, are obliged to suppress that longing of the soul
that will at times arise to explore the mysterious labyrinths of
knowledge, yet, even such, can hold sweet communion with the works
of creation. The great volume of nature lies open before them, and
though, in studying its pages, they often make wild mistakes, yet they
fear no ridicule.

When they gaze upon the blue vault of heaven, bespangled with all its
countless gems, though the conclusions they arrive at are far--very
far from truth, yet the placid moon looks down upon them as queenly as
though they understood all the laws by which she is governed. As they
contemplate, with wonder and admiration, the shining stars with which
the brow of night is studded, though they understood not all the
principles that astronomy unfolds, concerning those heavenly bodies,
yet, no scornful light flashes from those brilliant orbs, as they look
down from their high estate; and although they do sometimes emit a
merry twinkle, yet, there is nothing of ridicule in the expression:
but it seems rather to woo the beholder, to gaze upon their wondrous
beauty.

The sweet flowers look up to them as lovingly inviting them to partake
of their precious sweets, as though they understood all their several
properties, and knew how to assign to each its place in the vegetable
kingdom. It is true, the poor possess not all the means of the rich
for exploring what is rare and curious in the works of nature. They
are obliged to confine themselves to what is presented to their view
in their own immediate neighborhood; but there is enough even in the
tamest prospect, to excite the wonder and admiration of the beholder,
and to inspire them with emotions of love and gratitude towards the
great Creator.

Yet, grand and beautiful and sublime as this world is, God has only
fitted it up as a temporary abode for man; he does not consider it a
fit dwelling place for his children to inhabit through all eternity.
We are told that when the "spirits of the just made perfect" leave
this world, they will go to a better world: a more costly and
magnificent abode, that God has prepared for them. Yes, costly indeed,
since a title to an inheritance in that better world is purchased by
the blood of his only Son; and we are told that it is not in the heart
of man to concieve of the glory and magnificence of that place, that
is to be the home of those who accept of the terms by which it is
to be secured; and what are those terms? why, merely to repent and
believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and to seek forgivness for our sins
through his blood.

To put our trust in God, to love him supremely, and to seek to do his
will; and are not these conditions very easy? Can we help loving such
a God, so great, so good, and who has been at such infinite pains, and
given such a costly sacrifice to secure the happiness of his subjects?
And can we help loving the Saviour who was willing to be made a
sacrifice to secure the eternal happiness of a lost and ruined race;
and who left a home of glory, of bliss, and joy inexpressible, to come
to a world where he must suffer persecution, contempt, and mockery;
where he would be reviled, and spit upon, and taunted, and finally die
a cruel and ignominous death upon the cross?

All this he suffered, that sinners through his sufferings might
receive a title to the joys of that better world that God has prepared
for those that love him. Oh how cold, how hard, how utterly lost to
all grateful emotions, must that heart be that could treat with scorn
or indifference that dear Saviour who has done so much for them, and
prepared for all who will accept, a happy entrance into a world of
ineffable light and glory.

Where the sun does not emit its golden beams, nor the moon shed
her paler rays, and no golden star spangles the canopy, but God's
countenance lights the place, and the Lamb is in the midst; He who was
offered for the remission of sin. Who would not enter this world, of
happiness, where sin enters not, pain or sickness come not, and death
is swallowed up in victory? Where the saints of the most high God are
clothed upon with the righteousness of Christ, and the "spirits of the
just made perfect" join with angels and arch-angels, in singing sweet
songs of redeeming love.

But angels cannot appreciate the full rapture of the redeemed soul.
We cannot comprehend here, fully, but the mind is overwhelmed when
we contemplate the revelations of the Gospel, "Come then expressive
silence, muse His praise."