The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 03, No. 17, March, 1859: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 03, No. 17, March, 1859: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
The tone of life in New England, so habitually earnest and solemn,
breathed itself in the grave and plaintive melodies of the tunes then
sung in the churches; and so these words, though in the saddest minor
key, did not suggest to the listening ear of the auditor anything more
than that pensive religious calm in which he delighted to repose. A
contrast indeed they were, in their melancholy earnestness, to the
exuberant carollings of a robin, who, apparently attracted by them,
perched himself hard by in the lilacs, and struck up such a merry
_roulade_ as quite diverted the attention of the fair singer;--in fact,
the intoxication breathed in the strain of this little messenger, whom
God had feathered and winged and filled to the throat with ignorant
joy, came in singular contrast with the sadder notes breathed by that
creature of so much higher mould and fairer clay,--that creature born
for an immortal life.
But the good Doctor was inly pleased when she sung,--and when she
stopped, looked up from his Bible wistfully, as missing something, he
knew not what; for he scarce thought how pleasant the little voice
was, or knew he had been listening to it,--and yet he was in a manner
enchanted by it, so thankful and happy that he exclaimed with fervor,
"The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly
heritage."
So went the world with him, full of joy and praise, because the voice
and the presence wherein lay his unsuspected life were securely near, so
certainly and constantly a part of his daily walk that he had not even
the trouble to wish for them. But in that other heart how was it?--how
with the sweet saint that was talking to herself in psalms and hymns and
spiritual songs?
The good child had remembered her mother's parting words the night
before,--"Put your mind upon your duties,"--and had begun her first
conscious exercise of thought with a prayer that grace might be given
her to do it. But even as she spoke, mingling and interweaving with that
golden thread of prayer was another consciousness, a life in another
soul, as she prayed that the grace of God might overshadow him, shield
him from temptation, and lead him up to heaven; and this prayer so got
the start of the other, that, ere she was aware, she had quite forgotten
self, and was feeling, living, thinking in that other life.
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