As his mind dilated with the awful grandeur of the theme, his thoughts
kindled to a white heat, and he flung off words that seemed to scorch
and burn even the callous souls of those time-hardened transgressors.
He poured upon their ears, in tones of trumpet power and fulness,
echoed from the hills around, the stern threatenings of injured
justice; he besought them, in low, sweet, thrilling accents, to yield
themselves heart and life to the Great Judge, who will preside in the
day of impartial accounts, and thus avert his wrath and be happy
forever.
At the close, he threw himself for a few moments upon the rustic bench
appropriated to him, covered his face with his hands and seemed in
silent prayer. The people involuntarily bent their heads in sympathy
and remained motionless. Then, he rose and gave them the evening
benediction.
Mr. Somers, his nephew, and Adele had been sitting under the shade of
an odorous balm poplar, on the skirt of the crowd, at first watching
its movements, and then drawn away from these observations, by the
impressive discourse of Mr. Norton.
"What a clear, melodious voice he has!" said John in an undertone to
Adele, as the missionary finished the opening service.
"Wait, until you hear its trumpet tones, Mr. Lansdowne. Those will
come, by and by. They are magnificent. Please listen". And Adele
placed a finger upon her lips, in token of silence.
John listened, at first, in obedience to her request, but he soon
became enchained by the speaker.
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