An October Sunrise
I was up the next morning before the October sunrise, and away through
the wild and the woodland. The rising of the sun was noble in the cold
and warmth of it; peeping down the spread of light, be raised his shoulder
heavily over the edge of gray mountain and wavering length of upland.
Beneath his gaze the dew-fogs dipped and crept to the hollow places, then
stole away in line and column, holding skirts and clinging subtly at the
sheltering comers where rock hung over grass-land, while the brave lines
of the hills came forth, one beyond other gliding(1).
The woods arose in folds, like drapery of awakened mountains, stately with
a depth of awe, and memory of the tempests(2). Autumn's mellow hand was
upon them, as they owned already, touched with gold and red and olive,
and their joy towards the sun was less to a bridegroom than a father.
Yet before the floating impress of the woods could clear itself, suddenly
the gladsome light leaped over hill and valley, casting amber, blue, and
purple, and a tint of rich red rose, according to the scene they lit on,
and the curtain flung around; yet all alike dispelling fear and the cloven
hoof(3) of darkness, all on the wings of hope advancing, and proclaiming,
"God is here !" Then life and joy sprang reassured from every crouching
hollow; every flower and bud and bird had a fluttering sense of them(4),
and all the flashing of God's gaze merged into soft beneficence.
So, perhaps, shall break upon us that eternal morning, when crag and chasm
shall be no more, neither hill and valley, nor great unvintaged ocean;
when glory shall not scare happiness, neither happiness envy glory; but
all things shall arise, and shine in the light of the Father's countenance,
because itself is risen.
