He lies! he lies! he lies! That man in the pulpit lies!
Will no one stop him? Have none of them heard--do none of them know, that
when the poor, dark soul shut its eyes on earth it opened them in the still
light of heaven? that there is no wrath where God's face is? that if one
could once creep to the footstool of God, there is everlasting peace there,
like the fresh stillness of the early morning? While the atheist lay
wondering and afraid, God bent down and said: "My child, here I am--I,
whom you have not known; I, whom you have not believed in; I am here. I
sent My messenger, the white sheet-lightning, to call you home. I am
here."
Then the poor soul turned to the light--its weakness and pain were gone
forever.
Have they not known, have they not heard, who it is rules?
"For a little moment have I hidden my face from thee; but with everlasting
kindness will I have mercy upon thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer."
We mutter on to ourselves, till some one pulls us violently by the arm to
remind us we are in church. We see nothing but our own ideas.
Presently every one turns to pray. There are six hundred souls lifting
themselves to the Everlasting light.
Behind us sit two pretty ladies; one hands her scent-bottle softly to the
other, and a mother pulls down her little girl's frock.
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