The day was dying, and the great crimson orb, surrounded by golden and purple clouds, half sunk below the horizon, looked like the domed roof of some vast temple. Each wrapped in his own thoughts, the aged man and I, together admired the exquisite beauty of that sky; but how differently did it impress us! The sage, wrinkled and bent, was reminded by the setting sun that his day too was drawing to a close; something like a sigh escaped him. Was it regret or anticipation of release?
"Father," I said, "such a scene fills my soul with delight, with hope. The beautiful colors and forms make me revel in dreams of brighter lands, of a better state, where there shall be only joy and goodness. Surely in time man will become more perfect even here. There is much to hope for; we must have faith in the future. What sayest thou?"
Raising his head, the old man said, "Hope! faith! enchanting illusions, interminable anticipations
- ↑ Published in "Home Journal," and in the "North British Advertiser" of Edinburgh.
