Then is it late, "too late," O Lord?
I am waiting in the porch
To hear those "gates of pearl" unbar,
And enter in thy church;
To find sure anchor, peace and rest,
From error, sorrow, sin;
I am very weary of earth's strife—
Lord, let thy wanderer in.
Sophia May Eckley.
St. Gertrude's Day, Nov. 15, 1869.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.
ANGELA.
CHAPTER VIII.
AVOWALS.
In the same deep valley where the brook rippled over the pebbles in its bed, where the mountain sides rose up abruptly, where the moss hung from the old oaks, where Klingenberg plucked the tender beard of the young professor of history, took place the meditated attack of the doctor on the poison of materialism which was destroying the body and soul of Richard.
Slowly and carefully the doctor advanced, as against an enemy who will defend his position to the last. But how was he astonished when, upon being attacked, Frank showed no disposition to defend that most highly-vaunted doctrine of modern science—materialism. This was almost as puzzling to the doctor as the eternity of matter. Tired of skirmishing, the doctor set to work to close with the enemy and strike him down.