I
looked and saw, sure enough, behind the dark mass of the Mole, (a huge
blue-black mountain in the foreground,) the granite ranges rising
gradually and grim as we rode; but, further still, behind those gray
and ghastly barriers, all bathed and blazing in the sun's fresh
splendors, undimmed by a cloud, unveiled even by a filmy fleece of
vapor, and oh, so white--so intensely, blindingly white! against the
dark-blue sky, the needles, the spires, the solemn pyramid, the
transfiguration cone of Mont Blanc. Higher, and still higher, those
apocalyptic splendors seemed lifting their spectral, spiritual forms,
seeming to rise as we rose, seeming to start like giants hidden from
behind the black brow of intervening ranges, opening wider the
amphitheatre of glory, until, as we reached the highest point in our
road, the whole unearthly vision stood revealed in sublime
perspective. The language of the Revelation came rushing through my
soul. This is, as it were, a door opened in heaven. Here are some of
those everlasting mountain ranges, whose light is not of the sun, nor
of the moon, but of the Lord God and of the Lamb.
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