Thick clouds,
shaped like piles of cannon balls, have slowly peered up from behind the
horizon, and rolled themselves hither and thither, spreading and gathering
as they went. Now and then a thunder-whisper is heard, so faint, that if
we were conversing, we should not notice it; and an occasional flash of
lightning seems, in the sun's glare, like the waving of a curtain by the
fitful breeze that begins to touch the pool here and there. The cloud
masses gather fresh and fresh accession as they move on, like
revolutionary armies marching up to battle. Looking overhead, there seems
a field-day in heaven; great bodies of artillery in motion, forming
themselves into solid phalanx, and giving more and more dreadful notes of
preparation. Volleys tell when divisions join, and the light that
announces them is as if the adamantine arch were riven, disclosing dread
splendors unspeakable Most grand, most beautiful storm! New music--that
of the delicious rain, and in such abundance that it washes away the very
memory of the parched and burning day. No wild commotion, no terror!
Sublime order and an awe which is like peace. One more proof of the
unfailing, tender love of our heavenly Father.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233