The
country being all scrub, I was compelled as usual to ride with a bell
on my stirrup. Jingle jangle all day long; what with heat, fever, and
the pain I was in, and the din of that infernal bell, I really thought
it no sin to wish myself out of this world, and into a better, cooler,
and less noisy one, where not even:--
"To heavenly harps the angelic choir,
Circling the throne of the eternal King;"
should:--
"With hallowed lips and holy fire,
Rejoice their hymns of praise to sing;"
which revived in my mind vague opinions with regard to our notions of
heaven. If only to sit for ever singing hymns before Jehovah's throne
is to be the future occupation of our souls, it is doubtful if the
thought should be so pleasing, as the opinions of Plato and other
philosophers, and which Addison has rendered to us thus:--
"Eternity, thou pleasing, dreadful thought,
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me," etc.
But I am trenching upon debatable ground, and have no desire to enter
an argument upon the subject. It is doubtless better to believe the
tenets taught us in our childhood, than to seek at mature age to
unravel a mystery which it is self-evident the Great Creator never
intended that man in this state of existence should become acquainted
with.
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