IwasupthenextmorningbeforetheOctobersunrise, andawaythroughthewildandthewoodland. Therisingofthesunwasnobleinthecoldandwarmthofitpeepingdownthespreadoflight,heraisedhisshoulderheavilyovertheedgeofgreymountainandwaveringlengthofupland. Beneathhisgazethedew-fogsdipped, andcrepttocrepttothehollowplaces; thenstoleawayinlineandcolumn,holdingskirts, andclingingsubtlyattheshelteringcornerswhererockhungovergrassland, while the bravelinesofthehills came forth, onebeyondothergliding.

Thewoodsaroseinfolds, likedraperyofawakenedmountains, statelywithadepthofawe,andmemoryofthetempests. Autumn’smellowhandwasuponthem, astheyownedalready,touchedwithgoldandredandolive, andtheirjoytowardsthesunwaslesstoabridegroomthanafather.

Yetbeforethefloatingimpressofthewoodscouldclearitself, suddenlythegladsomelightleapedoverhillandvalley, castingamber, blue, andpurple, andatintofrichredrose;accordingtothescenetheyliton, andthecurtainflungaround; yetallalikedispellingfearandtheclovenhoofofdarkness, allonthewingsofhopeadvancing, andproclaiming, “Godishere!” thenlifeandjoysprangreassuredfromeverycrouchinghollow; everyflower, andbudandbirdhadaflutteringsenseofthem; andalltheflashingofGod’sgazemergedintosoftbeneficence.

So, perhaps, shallbreakuponusthateternalmorning, whencragandchasmshallbenomore,neitherhillandvalley, norgreatunvintagedocean; butallthingsshallarise, andshineinthelightoftheFather’scountenance, becauseitselfisrisen.