I do not wonder that the eternal home of the glorified should be
symbolized by a Mount Zion. I do not wonder that the Psalmist should
say, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the _hills,_ from whence
cometh my help!" For surely earth cannot present, nor unassisted fancy
conceive, an object more profoundly significant of divine majesty than
these mountains in their linen vesture of everlasting snow.
Tuesday, June 28. The morning dawned clear, warm, and cloudless. A
soft haze rested on the distant landscape, without, however, in the
least dimming its beauty.
At about eleven we set off with two horses in an open carriage, by the
left shore, to visit St. Cergue, and ascend the Jura. All our way was
gradually ascending, and before us, or rather across the lake on one
side, stood the glorious New Jerusalem scene. We were highly favored.
Every moment diminished the intervening mountains, and lifted the
gorgeous pageant higher into the azure.
Every step, every turn, presented it in some new point of view, and
extended the range of observation. New Alps were continually rising,
and diamond-pointed peaks glancing up behind sombre granite bulwarks.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277