Marvels of the Aurora
One of the most vivid recollections of my early boyhood is that of
seeing my father return hastily into the house one evening and call
out to the family: ``Come outside and look at the sky!'' Ours was a
country house situated on a commanding site, and as we all emerged
from the doorway we were dumbfounded to see the heavens filled with
pale flames which ran licking and quivering over the stars. Instantly
there sprang into my terrified mind the recollection of an awful
description of ``the Day of Judgment'' (the Dies Ir?), which I had
heard with much perturbation of spirit in the Dutch Reformed church
from the lips of a tall, dark-browed, dreadfully-in-earnest preacher
of the old-fashioned type. My heart literally sank at sight of the
spectacle, for it recalled the preacher's very words; it was just as
he had said it would be, and it needed the assured bearing of my
elders finally to convince me that
That Day of Wrath, O dreadful day,
When Heaven and Earth shall pass away,
As David and the Sibyl say
had not actually come upon us. And even the older members of the
household were not untouched with misgivings when menacing spots of
crimson appeared, breaking out now here, now there, in the shuddering
sky. Toward the north the spectacle was appalling.
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