“Do you know what you lose, by spending those hours in sleep which might be devoted to the most pleasing and most substantial enjoyment? Only recollect the peculiar fascinations of the morning. Think upon the feelings which they are calculated to excite. Picture to yourself (and if you imagine I have painted in too glowing colours, rise tomorrow and compare it with the reality, and if there be one tint too vivid, one touch too flattering, destroy the painting and forget the artist,) picture to yourself a summer morning. The sun rising in all his native majesty, shedding his beams with a gentle influence, which, whilst it predicts their increasing power, teaches us to value their present mildness. Every object as it catches the first rays of “the powerful king of day,” appearing to smile at his approach. The lengthened shadows that shoot across the meadow, slowly diminishing as he advances. The clouds that seemed to check his early progress, gradually yielding to his growing might, and “illumed with fluid gold,” disappearing amid “the kindling azure.” The glistening-dew drops, “stars of morning,” impearling every leaf. Vegetation clothed in a richer verdure, and the variegated flowers in livelier hues. The groves resounding with the melody of the feathered tribes, who appear susceptible of gratitude for the return of the opening day. Whilst every animal is in motion, and seems to feel a new satisfaction in the exercise of its active powers and the revival of its capacities- for enjoyment.
You are aware how much of the pleasure or the pain that is experienced on the consideration of particular objects, depends upon the recollections with which they are connected. Comparatively very little inherent beauty can be found in any; and those which we have regarded at one time as the fairest and most agreeable, we may have looked upon at another with in- difference, or even dislike. The seasons of the year, and the time of the day, have often considerable influence in producing this contrariety of effect; and different minds are variously affected by the same circum- stances. One man regards the bursting foliage of spring, and the universal verdure which then surrounds him, as the finest scenery which nature can afford; whilst another gazes with rapture on the mingled tints of autumn, and the varied shades of colour which then diversify the grove. One delights to behold the rising sun throwing his beams across the smiling landscape, whilst another loves the parting ray that bids it a temporary farewell. But whatever may be the variety of taste, and without intruding upon you my own (perhaps antiquated) sentiments, I cannot but think that the associations which are connected with morning are much more exhilarating and more beneficial, than the melancholy feelings which the sombre shades of twilight produce. It is in the power of a creative fancy, to make the reflections which are excited much more agreeable than the images that lead to them. And it is in the morning, when the spirits are elated, and the disposition cheerful, that we separate those circumstances, which when combined with the objects that surround us give them a deforming aspect, and unite in the imagination what nature has kept dis- tinct, adding to the intrinsic beauty of the scenery the most interesting associations and pleasing ideal connections.
But in you, who are such an admirer of poetry, and so many of whose mental as- sociations are connected with the descriptions contained in your favourite authors, and whose solitary musings are so often enlivened by the recollection of them, the indulgence in the pernicious habit of throwing away so valuable a portion of the day as the morning, carries with it an appearance of the greatest inconsistency. There are very few of our descriptive poets who have not given us some of the most pleasing proofs of the excellence of their compositions, in their pictures of morning scenery: indeed, this season possesses something that is really and peculiarly poetical. The beauties of the unfolding landscape, and the song of cheerfulness which echoes through the woods, are themes adapted for the exercise of the powers of the finest genius, and produce, without any effort of thought, a train of pleasing ideas, harmonious in themselves, and easily in- fused into the language which is necessary to express them. The morning affords subjects for contemplation also which are exclusively her own. The rising sun is the majestic herald who announces her advance, and the glittering dew-drops are the gems which deck her vesture. The “lyric lark” ascends to hymn her praise, whilst a thousand warblers conspire to swell the chorus of the anthem. The sons of labour greet her approach with pleasure, and the glow of health, which animates their countenances, serves as her silent panegyrist; whilst all that strength and vigour of body can bestow, and cheerfulness of mind can impart, add their willing tribute to her genial influence.
Before I conclude this letter, I will recall to your remembrance (as I do not suppose that any of them are new to you) some of our poets' descriptions of the beauties of morning. The rising sun has ever been a favourite theme with them, and they have done ample justice to the dignity and majesty of the object described.”
pp. 76-81
“But the beauty of morning is very much increased by the drops of dew which are hanging from every blade of grass, and are reflecting the rays of the sun in a thousand different directions. Not a sound has been heard nor a leaf been moved, whilst the secret operation has been advancing: and what a pleasing emblem does this afford of the influences of the Holy Spirit. How mild, how gentle, how imperceptible have its effusions often been upon our minds! What a train of heavenly thoughts has it inspired, whilst we have scarcely known how to account for their existence: what an unruffled calm has it produced, and how has it spoken peace to the troubled conscience, when a thousand worldly cares and anxieties were raising a tumult in our breasts But these gems which thus adorn the smiling landscape, are not merely designed to add to the transient loveliness of the scene; they tend to perpetuate its beauty by deepening the verdure of the fields, and heightening the blooming tints, and increasing the fragrant odours of the flowers on which they hang. And may we not trace a similarity between these effects, and the sanctifying influences of the spirit of truth? Are they not instrumental in refreshing and invigorating all the graces of the Christian character? in maturing the fruits of holiness? Do they not so impress upon our minds, and enforce upon our consciences, the great and important truths of the Bible, that they are made so intrinsically a part of our moral and intellectual constitutions, as to prove by the effects which they produce in our lives and conduct, that they are become essential and vital principles? Do they not prevent the doctrines we have embraced, and the creed we have professed, from losing their efficacy for want of a motive for action, or a stimulus to exertion? And amidst all the different shades of character, and the diversity of talent with which we are surrounded, do they not influence each according to his particular requirements, and whilst the means are the same, produce effects equally pleasing and beneficial by reason of their variety? But will my dear Charlotte here suggest the painful doubt which has so often disturbed her peace? Will she heave the dis- trustful sigh, and tell me now, as she has sometimes done before, that reflections such as these may occupy the mind and animate the hopes of the real disciple of the Son of God; but that she has no claim to this high character, that she cannot feel this in- dividual relationship, that she knows no- thing of that filial appropriation which exclaims in the “spirit of adoption,” Abba, Father?" Will she tell me that she has never yet discovered the evidence of her faith, has never yet been able to recur to the time when the effectual operations of the Holy Spirit have descended upon her soul, whilst “the dew of her birth” was “of the womb of the morning?” Permit me, my dear girl, in whose happiness I feel no common interest, and for the increase of whose peace of mind I would offer up my unceasing prayers, permit me to make one more allusion to the spiritual application of the lovely scenery of morning. Darkness has long maintained its empire, and thrown a veil of obscurity over the undistinguishable beauties of creation, but day-break is at hand. The grey and dusky tints which mark the eastern boundary of vision, foretell some important change; a lighter streak succeeds, and the twilight advances, but still the night appears unwilling to resign her dominion. A blush of deeper hue has suffused itself over the sky; the clouds are breaking rapidly away; and the western hills are tipped with a lustre that proclaims the approach of the great luminary of day. His effects are visible before his glories are revealed; till at length he darts his beams across the valley and the plain, and a thousand voices welcome his appearance. The admiring spectator, who had groped in the obscurity, and shivered in the cold of night, though he may not have been able to mark the gradual steps by which light and warmth have advanced, yet he can recur to his distress, and say it was night; he can rejoice in the change, and say it is day. And can- not you, my dear Charlotte, recur to the hour of nature’s darkness? Cannot you recollect a time when you neither saw, nor wished to see “the Sun of Righteousness?” And cannot you also remember when you longed for the “day-spring from on high?” when you rejoiced in its cheering influence? And do you not now desire the blessings and the joys which light alone can afford? Though the morning may have been over-cast with clouds, have you never seen the source of your spiritual life breaking through them with some cheering rays, which have convinced you that " to them that believe he is precious?" Seek not, my dear girl, either for your evidences or your happiness in past convictions. Does the man who walks in the light of day, ever pause lest he should have been mistaken, or ask if the sun be really risen? Does he seek for further proof than the demonstrations around him; the splendours that illumine, the heat that warms, the influence that cheers? Perhaps he cannot fix his eye with the eagle's gaze upon the glowing orb, but the weakness of his vision does not shake the firmness of his convictions. Ask yourself, my dear girl, these questions. Do I now feel myself lost, without a redeeming Saviour? Am I convinced that the malady of sin is incurable without a physician of value? Have I fled, and do I daily flee for refuge, to lay hold on the hope which is set before me in the Gospel f Is Christ all in all? Am I fixing my trust upon one who is “mighty to save?” Press forward in the divine life; let every doubt add earnestness to the prayer, “Lord, help my unbelief :” run the race which is set before you in the Gospel : and may your path, “the path of he just,” be like that of the sun, which not only beautifies with his beams the hours of morning, but “shines more and more unto the perfect day.”
pp. 95-101
~ Buckland, A. C. (Alfred Cecil), Letters on the importance, duty, and advantages of early rising. Addressed to heads of families, the man of business, the lover of nature, the student, and the Christian.
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