There--all is dark
and still. Now, O wretched heart, exult in thy wretchedness; draw the
dark, heavy curtains of despair around thee; shut out the light of
hope and love; hush the voice of praise and thanksgiving. Think of all
thou hast suffered; think of thy present misery; crowd the future with
black-robed phantoms; people every nook and corner with horrible
faces, and over all let the thunder crash and bellow, and the winds
moan and shriek, as they moan and shriek only when the great are
dying.
Ah, what sad havoc do sickness and pain make of the poor body; but
sadder still when they trample on the bright inhabitant within, and
make it a slave to tremble at their bidding! "Bring chains--bring
chains," cries the fell destroyer; and ere she has time to rally her
forces around her, or even think of resistance, the poor Soul has
become a helpless captive, and Disease wears a smile of triumph upon
her ghastly cheek, and again lifts up her voice to shout "victory."
And a complete victory it is: Self-control, Pride, Ambition--all are
humbled; Hope is shrouded in sackcloth, and if she ever speaks it is
only to whisper: "There is one secret passage by which thou mayest yet
escape, but it winds through the kingdom of Death and the Grave.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123