II - 17 An October Sunrise

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.