“I am grown exceedingly uneasy in writing and speaking, yea, almost in thinking, when I reflect how cloudy our clearest thoughts are; but, I think again what other can we do, till the day break and the shadows flee away, as one that lieth awake in the night must be thinking; and one thought that will likely oftenest return, when by all other thoughts he finds little relief, is, _when will it be day?_” You see he would have wondered to be spoken of thus--“Poor Leighton has gone.” Answer, “How very sad,”--when at last he had attained to that day. Let me show, by another noble instance, that, as Winter days, when they come, bring often unforeseen beauty and gladness with them, so not even the anticipation is always necessarily sad to the eye of exalted faith. Remember you those words of the mighty Apostle of Christ--when the Winter time was yet somewhat removed--with their more than calm anticipation of it, their deep warmth of joy? “To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. What I shall choose I wot not. For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; _which is far better_.” And then the stirring tones of exultation and triumph, as now but few leaves were left, and Winter days were even at the door. “I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day.” Here is an aurora borealis flashing up to the heavens in light and splendour, over the wide snow landscape of Winter days. [Illustration] THE END OF THE SEASONS. [Illustration] The Summer is past, the Autumn is passing quite away, the Harvest is long ended, the fruit all garnered. And the year seems as desolate as Solomon in his sad time, having been clad in more than all his glory. It has gathered gardens, and orchards, and pools, and singers, and delights; and whatsoever its eyes desired it kept not from them, nor withheld its heart from any joy or beauty; and it rejoiced in all its labour. But now what a change! You may fancy that it has looked on all the works that it had wrought, and on the labour that it had laboured to do,--and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun! And so it hastens to cast away all its gathered store and cherished delights, and stands naked, desolate, bankrupt, under the cold searching gaze of the clear bright stars. Ah! “Where is the pride of Summer, the green prime,-- The many, many leaves all twinkling? Three On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime, Trembling,--and one upon the old oak tree!”