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Updated: May 4, 2025
How many noble natures how many glorious hopes how much of the seraph's intellect, have been crushed info the mire, or blasted into guilt, by the mere force of physical want? Benevolence. How poor, even in this beautiful world, with the warm sun and fresh air about us, that alone are sufficient to make us glad, would be life, if we could not make the happiness of others. Eloquence.
How glorious this idea of creation, and how beautiful the universe produced! the whole mantled in the effulgence of the eternal throne; the Sovereign Creator upholding all ranks of intelligences in the hollow of his hand, and pouring into their bosoms the fullness of his own fruition; while their hearts, in turn, rise to the Source of their being in sweetest incense of joy and praise; each burning with a seraph's love to communicate his own overflowing enjoyments to those around him.
Her eye was fixed on the distant village church: the bell had tolled for the evening service; the last villager was lagging into the porch, and everything had sunk into that hallowed stillness peculiar to the day of rest. Her parents were gazing on her with yearning hearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so roughly over some faces, had given to hers the expression of a seraph's.
Our bedroom window was always tightly closed, and, at night, so were the shutters; yet a sunbeam, adventurous, like ourselves, found its way through a broken slat, and, cleaving the heavy air of the chamber, flew straight to The Seraph's nose, where it perched, lending a radiant prominence to that soft feature. The Seraph roused himself.
Through her tears his meagre face showed as a seraph's who spoke the truth and forbade her to juggle with her soul. "Dear Rickie but for the rest of my life what am I to do?" "Anything if you remember that the greatest thing is over." "I don't know you," she said tremulously. "You have grown up in a moment. You never talked to us, and yet you understand it all.
"Oh, but, we want to be wiv you! Don't leave us," breathed The Seraph, burrowing his face into the rough tweed shoulder. Angel and I burrowed against him too. "Don't leave us again," we whispered. He began to kiss us, and to rumple our heads, and to bite The Seraph's cheek.
My pulses throbbed as scene by scene the pantomime was disclosed before my happy eyes. Here was I, John Curzon, part of quite as good a play as yon. Pirates, love, fluttering banners, swashbuckling clowns, life stretched before me, a jolly adventure with Angel and The Seraph always there to share the fun. Now the Seraph's head had dropped to Mrs. Handsomebody's lap. He was half asleep.
I tore the bottle from The Seraph's clinging lips, and stuffed it, corkless, into my pocket. Mrs. Handsomebody sat down and disposed her skirt about her knees. Her eyes travelled over us. "Alexander," she said to The Seraph, "stand up." He meekly rose. "What is that on your chin?" The Seraph explored his chin with his tongue. "It tastes sweet," he said. "I asked what is it?"
Almost before the words were spoken, his hand was held in both of the Seraph's. "Take it? Before all the world always, come what will." His eyes were dim as he spoke, and his rich voice rang clear as the ring of silver, though there was the tremor of emotion in it. He had forgotten the Hebrew's presence; he had forgotten all save his friend and his friend's extremity.
He had said, "I am a man of unclean lips." The fire burned the sin away. So the seraph said, speaking in God's name, "Lo, this hath touched thy lips, and thine iniquity is taken away and thy sin purged." It was the assurance of the Divine forgiveness, which had come swift as a seraph's flight in answer to Isaiah's confession.
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