The Rural Magazine, and Literary Evening Fire-Side, Vol. 1 No. 07 (1820)Various
General
The Rural Magazine, and Literary Evening Fire-Side, Vol. 1 No. 07 (1820)
Various
Agriculture; Agriculture -- Periodicals
It was the mercy of God that had struck her down to the earth,
insensible to the shrieking winds, and the fears that would
otherwise have killed her. Three hours of that wild storm had passed
over her head, and she heard nothing more than if she had been
asleep in a breathless night of the summer dew. Not even a dream
had touched her brain, and when she opened her eyes which, as she
thought had been but a moment shut, she had scarcely time to recal
to her recollection the image of her husband rushing out into the
storm, and of a daughter therein lost, till she beheld that very
husband kneeling tenderly by her bed-side, and that very daughter
smoothing the pillow on which her aching temples reclined. But she
knew from the white steadfast countenances before her that there
had been tribulation and deliverance, and she looked on the beloved
beings ministering by her bed, as more fearfully dear to her from
the unimagined danger from which she felt assured they had been
rescued by the arm of the Almighty.
There is little need to speak of returning recollection, and
returning strength. They had all now power to weep, and power to
pray. The Bible had been lying in its place ready for worship--and
the father read aloud that chapter in which is narrated our
Saviour's act of miraculous power, by which he saved Peter from
the sea. Soon as the solemn thoughts awakened by that act of mercy
so similar to that which had rescued themselves from death had
subsided, and they had all risen up from prayer, they gathered
themselves in gratitude round the little table which had stood
so many hours spread--and exhausted nature was strengthened
and restored by a frugal and simple meal partaken of in silent
thankfulness.
The whole story of the night was then calmly recited--and when the
mother heard how the stripling had followed her sweet Hannah into
the storm, and borne her in his arms through a hundred drifted
heaps--and then looked upon her in her pride, so young, so innocent,
and so beautiful, she knew, that were the child indeed to become an
orphan, there was one, who, if there was either trust in nature, or
truth in religion, would guard and cherish her all the days of her
life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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