I was up the next morning before the October sunrise, and away through the wild and the woodland.
The rising of the sun was noble in the cold and warmth of it peeping down the spread of light, he raised his shoulder heavily over the edge of grey mountain and wavering length of upland.
Beneath his gaze the dew-fogs dipped, and crept to crept to the hollow places; then stole away in line and column, holding skirts, and clinging subtly at the sheltering corners where rock hung over grassland, while the brave lines of the hills came forth, one beyond other gliding.
The woods arose in folds, like drapery of awakened mountains, stately with a depth of awe, and memory of the tempests. Autumn’s mellow hand was upon them, as they owned already, touched with gold and red and olive, and their joy towards the sun was less to a bridegroom than a father.
Yet before the floating impress of the woods could clear itself, suddenly the gladsome light leaped over hill and valley, casting amber, blue, and purple, and a tint of rich red rose; according to the scene they lit on, and the curtain flung around; yet all alike dispelling fear and the cloven hoof of darkness, all on the wings of hope advancing, and proclaiming, “God is here!”
Then life and joy sprang reassured from every crouching hollow; every flower, and bud and bird had a fluttering sense of them; and all the flashing of God’s gaze merged into soft beneficence.