Close beside the home I inhabit a sweet vale lies, decked with fertile meadows and sunny glades, watered by glistening streams and rippling brooks, shaded by magnificent oaks and elms, and gemmed with starry flowers of every hue and of delicious fragrance.
Thickets of roses, blooming in rich profusion, dot the landscape here and there—roses independent of limited days and weeks, but which blossom on from day to day, one bud bursting into beauty after another, and no one left to bloom alone.
A grove of giant pines make music through this leafy vale, as the breezes sweep through their rustling branches; the carol of birds, the hum of insects, the rippling of waters, and the music of murmuring breezes, all combine to form a sweet harmony of sound, that, blending with the pure harmony of beautiful scenery, brings rest and peace to the souls of all who linger here.
Sweet spirit vale! dear Auburndale! for such I love to call you; within your borders, in sweet communion with God and Nature, the soul becomes purged of all material impurities, and grows into closer harmony with the sacred laws of being—Love, Sympathy, and Purity.
Away in the distance rises that majestic pile which to me is Mount Lookout; and as the sunlight rests upon it in gorgeous splendor, I know that upon my earthly home the sun is slowly sinking, in lines of rose and purple glory, behind the western hills.
Who could dream of pain and sadness amid the sunny sweetness of this enchanting vale? And yet, even here sometimes comes from a-far a sound of distress and anguish, brought plainly to our spirit ears by the waves of sympathy that surge within our souls; and we hear the wails of pain welling up from earth life, and mark the signs of devastation and distress bearing down upon the friends in mortal.
But why is this? Because from the depths of human suffering, pain, and death, that we see around us, a heavenly sympathy is born within our souls, and we become desirous of helping those in need, a sympathizing pity, prompting us to extend the cord of love we hold, until it encircles and draws upward, into realms of ineffable peace, the storm-tossed spirits in pain.
Disasters come to earth—conflagrations, misfortune—and from them often result suffering and death; but, glory to Him who rules! from the midst of these scenes of sorrow arise pure streams of helpfulness, strength, and succor for the distressed, that not only enriches the receiver, but also overflows with sympathy and blesses the soul of the bestower.
Up from the surging billows of distress, out of the fiery furnace of affliction, arises the pure Spirit of Love, cleansed by its contact with water, or refined by its passage through fire—noble, enduring, true—growing stronger and better from its upward flight, seeking as it goes the sympathy of angels, who, looking downward from the upper heights, send forth the sustaining cord of affection to draw the spirit upward, singing as it arises this grand refrain refrain—
“Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee;