Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn.
The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle.
Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky;
the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance;
till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon,
and turned the dewy teardrops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds.
In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open,
and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state.
I do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient Magians,
who, in the morning of the world, went up to the hilltops of Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true God, adored the most glorious work of his hand.
But I am filled with amazement, when I am told, that, in this enlightened age and in the heart of the Christian world,
there are persons who can witness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator, and yet say in their hearts, "There is no God."