ADOLPHUS SMITH by Adolphus Smith

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 19, 1871

ADOLPHUS SMITH

By Adolphus Smith

Sunset.

Recently, a scene of rare beauty was penciled upon the heavens in this latitude, by the setting sun. Parallel with the horizon, and a few degrees above it, stretched a line of silver-tipped clouds, like the low mountain range of some desert coast. Beneath this range were clusters of diminutive clouds, like gold-spangled fleets upon the distant sea. Above, stretched a waste like a desert of golden sand, relieved by an oasis, here and there, while near the zenith a patch of blue called to mind the mirage which only entices to deceive. At the right, the line of clouds swelled into apparent towering, snow-capped peaks, overtopping lesser heights of granite piles, and shedding gloom into the deep caverns at their bases. Altogether, the scene was one of surpassing beauty and awful grandeur, inspiring adoration of the beneficent Creator whose glory the heavens declare, and whose handiwork the firmament attests.

While gazing upon this scene of loveliness, the poet's appropriate hymn of praise became our own:

“When day with farewell beam delays, Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze Through opening vistas into Heaven, Those hues that make the sun’s decline So grand, so beauteous, Lord, are thine.”