What though, in solemn silence, all i WINTER-PIECE. 'TIS true, in the delightful seasons, His tenderness and His love are most eminently displayed.--In the vernal months, all is beauty to the eye, and music to the ear. The clouds drop fatness; the air softens into balm; and flowers, in rich abundance, spring wherever we tread, bloom wherever we look.--Amidst the burning heats of summer, He expands the leaves, and thickens the shades. He spreads the cooling arbour, to receive us; and awakes the gentle breeze, to fan us. The moss swells into a couch, for the repose of our bodies; while the rivulet softly rolls, and sweetly murmurs, to soothe our imagination.-In Autumn, His bounty covers the fields with a profusion of nutrimental treasure, and bends the boughs with loads of delicious fruit. He furnishes his hospitable board with present plenty, and prepares a copious magazine for future wants.-But, is it only in these smiling periods of the year, that God, the all-gracious God, is seen? Has winter, stern winter, no tokens of his presence? Yes: all things are eloquent of his praise. "His way is "in the whirlwind." Storms and tempests fulfil his word, and extol his power. Even piercing frosts bear witness to his goodness; while they bid the shivering nations tremble at his wrath.Be winter, then, for awhile, our theme*. Perhaps, A sketch of this nature, I must acknowledge, is quite different from the subject of the book; and I cannot but those barren scenes may be fruitful of intellectual improvement: perhaps, that rigorous cold, which binds the earth in icy chains, may serve to enlarge our hearts, and warm them with holy love. See how the day is shortened!-The sun, detained in fairer climes, or engaged in more agreeable services, rises, like an unwilling visitant, with tardy and reluctant steps. He walks, with a shy indifference, along the edges of the southern sky; casting an oblique glance, he just looks upon our dejected world, and scarcely scatters light through the thick air. Dim is his appearance, languid are his gleams, while he continues. Or, if he chance to wear a brighter aspect, and a cloudless brow; yet, like the young and gay in the house of mourning, he seems uneasy till he is gone; is in haste to depart. And let him depart. Why should we wish for his longer stay; since he can shew us nothing but the creation in distress? The flowery families lie dead, and the tuneful tribes are struck dumb. The trees, stript of their verdure, and lashed by storms, spread their naked arms to the enraged and relentless heavens. Fragrance no longer floats in the air, but chilling damps hover, or cutting gales blow. Nature, divested of all her beautiful robes, sits, like a forlorn, disconsolate widow, in her weeds; while winds, in doleful accents, howl, and rains, in repeated showers, weep. We regret not, therefore, the speedy departure of the day. When the room is hung with funeral black, and dismal objects are all around, who declare, was as far distant from the thoughts of the author. But, the desire of several acquaintance, together with an intimation of its usefulness, by a very polite letter from an unknown hand, prevailed with me to add a few descriptive touches, and improving hints, on what is so often experienced in these northern regions. I hope the attempt have made to oblige these gentlemen, will obtain the approbation, or at least the excuse, of my other readers. |