Sunrise in Tennessee
It was a misty morning down in the Graysville Valley. But I had climbed a good six hundred feet above, and stood upon the rounded back of Black Oak Ridge. The boldest stars had scarcely yet withdrawn from sentry duty, and the stillness of the dawn lay over forest and stream, deeply accen- tuating the first shrill calls of birds and the far- coming sounds of hammer, ax, and voice.
Upon the lower stretches of the climbing road, a faint flush had appeared to touch the eastern sky, but from the summit the low-lying clouds hung leaden; the roseate promise to the valley- dwellers was delayed to the watcher upon the hill.
The seeming delay was timely; the faculties, made alert and receptive by the conditions of the hour, were yet incapable of drinking in all the beauty of the panorama. The world that lay be-tore me was wrapped in a wondrous robe, the enfolding vapors uniting with the clinging shadows to make a scene of weird and rare beauty. The soft white folds of the fog lay heavily in the hollows, and wreathed the wooded slopes with filmy laces. A few miles away, the river's course was revealed by the denser bank of mist, a low wall of white. Beyond, the prospect, dimming with the distance, was finally shut off in a maze of mingled clouds and mountains, so interlaced and deceptive that no eye could distinguish the one from the other.
About me, down the slope a little way, the dark- green livery of a band of pines, splashed with the crimson of some intermeddling oaks, formed as for a protecting guard; over their heads, in the near distance, the undulating forest, broken here and there with the clearings ringing the little cabins; beyond, the appearance of a watery mo- rass, pierced by straggling tree-tops, dotted with hilltop islets, and almost inviting the touch of a light-pressed foot,- the indefinable horizon,- mystery.
The glamour of the scene sank into the soul; the misty became mystical, a bridge leading to the unseen world. Almost, from the midst of the seas and pillars of cloud, I could discern the lofty pinnacles and the massive, glorious gates of the City of Promise, as John's eyes beheld them long ago.
The sky was now alight; its eastern face began to glow. The scattered clouds had been drawing nearer to the opening gates of day. One of the lowest caught the first shafts of the bright king, and, bathing itself in rosy light, tossed on the gleams to its nearest fellows. Swiftly the, colors passed, deepening, changing, spreading, the car- mine leaping from lower to greater heights, leaving a touch of gold, of rose, of amber, and of white, to flush and light the faces of the somber clouds. It was not gorgeousness, it was glory,- black, purple, leaden, and gray melting and mingling in the warmer colors, until even clearer could the fancy see the opening of the gates of Paradise. The mists that lay below maintained their ghostly uniform, but slowly, very slowly, deserted their ground, dissipated in the warming atmosphere.
Then, as I watched, suddenly, low down it seemed in the maze of clouds and mountains, struck in a little fiery crescent, half reversed. With rapid pace it climbed the cloud-steps, growing in size, rounding in shape, barred and flecked with heavy masses of dark clouds. Though angry red, the eye could rest with ease upon its huge round face. As it rose, it worked. Its glowing heralds it recalled from cloud and sky, the greeters of its coming scattered from before its face, the mists shrank into nothing, or here and there rose to join their higher fellows. The light, first softly diffused, now glowed and streamed, and bathed the hills, the tree-tops, and the slopes; then, glancing over, struck the gray cliffs of the mountains behind, and all the world saw a new day. It was a sunrise of prophecy.
Again I stood upon the heights, at a little different vantage-point, and watched for the coming of the Day-Ruler. It was a little nearer the sunrising, and life was more fully astir. The scattered crows in the woods about me had sent forth their gathering cry, and joining the marshaled bands, were passing down into the valley on their daily foray. The clanging of cow-bells, mellowed by distance, came musically up the slope, and from near a cabin, half hidden among the hills, was borne the strong yodel of a boy's voice.
Above, the light cirrus sentinels of the small cloud-army flecked a paling blue; and below, massing as if to repulse an attack in the rear, the dark host awaited the onset. Low down they hung, and though no intervening mists shut the distant mountains of the Blue Ridge from view, beyond, through its gaps, could be dimly seen a cloudy counterfeit of another range. Color there was none, except the pale lightening of the sky.
Like Abraham, I thought, upon some height of the Plains of Mamre in the early morning, I stood straining my eyes over Canaan's hills against the far mountains of Moab. Suddenly, through a cleft of the distant range, a dull glow spread and deepened, and as I watched, its flame sprang along the seeming narrow valley, until in startling dis- tinctness were revealed in molten conflagration the cities of the plain. The uncapped expanse of a great furnace it seemed, as it gleamed and as- cended in masses of fire, to break, and die, and shoot again; and through the haze of its smoke, upon the hills behind was cast the dull glare of its reflection.
From far behind, streamers of light, like the rays of borealis, but steadily, spread over the eastern sky almost to the zenith; and then, against the background of dark and light, of coloring cloud and brightening sky, a little, flying, vapory roll, pushed by some wayward wisp of wind, infolding and turning upon itself, sped like the accusing parchment that Zechariah saw shaken over the land. My eyes passed downward again to the smitten plains, but all their fire had sunk in ashes; until over the cloud-hills behind rose the triumphant face of the mighty worker of these wonders, whose going forth is as the coming of a bridegroom out of his chamber, and rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, by whose hand the Lord teacheth the simple, and giveth eyes to the dull of sight. It had been a sunrise of history.
By A. W. Spaulding.
Printed in The Youth Instructor Feb 12, 1903. Pg 3