What Norman Saw in the WestOlin, Julia M. (Julia Matilda)
General
What Norman Saw in the West
Olin, Julia M. (Julia Matilda)
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; United States -- Description and travel -- Juvenile fiction
them as reapers into these fields of promise, looking forward to that
blessed time when they shall “return with joy bringing their sheaves
with them.”
Mrs. Lester afterward looked upon the portrait of the Christian woman to
whose liberality this institution owes its existence. That portrait
ought to hang on its walls. There is a queenly look about the fine
figure, and the way the head is set on the shoulders, and blended
goodness and intelligence in the countenance. In the evening of the same
day Mrs. Lester was in the room where Mrs. Garrett died, and she thought
of the blissful visions that may have floated about that dying pillow
glimpses of refreshing and perennial streams to make the wilderness
rejoice and blossom as the rose. Her life was not spent in vain on the
earth. Regular and consistent in her daily walks of duty and piety, she
has, by the judicious bestowment of ample means, prolonged her
usefulness on the earth, linked herself to holy activities through
coming time, and set in motion trains of influence, the mighty results
of which may only be known in the morning of the resurrection. She made
to herself friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, that when she
failed they might receive her into everlasting habitations.
CHAPTER IV.
THE QUEEN CITY OF THE LAKE.
“I saw the domes before me rise,
The lake behind me swell;
I thought upon the bygone days,
When nature wore a different phase,
And man a different skin;
And stretching far, through plain and swamp,
I saw the Indian’s fiery camp,
And heard the buffalo’s marching tramp,
And felt the mammoth’s earthquake stamp,
And all that once had been.
“A sudden change came o’er my dream;
I must have waked and dropp’d my theme.
For ships and cars, in fire and steam,
Begirt the horizon round;
Tall houses rose, with shops in front,
And bricks piled up, as bricks are wont,
In cloud-capp’d turrets frown’d;
And through the living, boiling throng
Thunder’d a thousand carts along,
And railroads howl’d their shrieking song,
Across the groaning ground.”
Norman had many little friends to say good-by to as he left for the cars
on Thursday morning, and very many pleasant memories to take with him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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