The Panorama
Will the world ever be persuaded that all expectations of happiness are delusive that are not founded on God? The soul of man is a ruined, undone existence — a poor deserted, dejected thing, that has not God for its refuge and joy. Give it all of earth that it solicits; multiply around it the ten thousand gratifications of sense; increase within it the still more numerous and delightful pleasures of thought; and if they terminate on earth, its restless desires, and its still more restless imagination, disappointed and deceived, are perpetually in pursuit of something new, some untried good. I have seen those who imagined they had found the good they were seeking after. But when I have sat down with them in their retirement, have become familiar with their thoughts, and sympathized with their joys; I have marked their solicitude, and uniformly scon that in a iittie while their sunshine of happiness is obscured by clouds.
Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I sat one evening at my window gazing upon the busy scenes which everywhere met my eye. The stir and clamour of a populous city kept on unceasingly around me. The gleaming lights, the quick steps, the passers by, the rattleing of wheels combined to complete the confusion. Above, as in contrast, the heavens stretched their immoveable canopy, where the bright stars kept their distant and permanent home. All on earth seemed variable and tumultuous; all above, still, constant and unchangeable. As the night advanced, and the bustle and noise abated, I became so deeply immersed in reflection, as gradually to lose all consciousness of objects around me. They slowly disappeared, and in their place an isolated stage or platform rose before me. At the first, I could discover nothing but its dim outline; but by degrees, it took a more definite and palpable form; and as my eye became accustomed to the view, I could descern miniature human figures, swarming in countless numbers upon its arena. Some seemed to be pursuing their way slowly, as though occupied with intense thought; others were hurried on with restless activity. Here, was a group holding amicable intercourse; there, two hostile bands arrayed in mimic conflict. The scene seemed indeed a world in miniature, where each station, each employment had its petty representative. The tradesman was vending his wares; the merchant grouping with his fellows upon the mart of traffic; the student with his book; the orator at his desk; the idler lounging listlessly on his way. There were children also careering by in their sports. As I watched more closely, I observed that occasionally, as if by untoward accident, some of these automata became severed from the mechanisim which linked the whole together, and suddenly disappeared. The scene however was so crowded and confused, that it was some time before I discovered that this occurrence was common to them all. Some indeed vanished as soon as they appeared; others passed some way across the stage; and a few I could trace even to its extreme verge, but eventually their fortune was the same with all the rest. In the midst of their restless career, all in their turn disappeared, and their places were occupied by a new succession of the same busy figures. As I watched their hurried motions, their strange gesticulation, their striving and pushing heedlessly on their way, I was moved to smile, and exclaimed, “What a singular, what an unmeaning scene !;’ “Dost thou smile?” said a voice near me. “Look again. It is the Panorama of human life.” As I looked again, everything appeared to increase in magnitude. The curtain which overhung the scene seemed to be gradually extended. until it reached and became commensurate with the heavens. From its darkfolds the stars shone out mildly, obscured at intervals by passing clouds. The petty stage upon which it had before rested was magnified into a world, and the figures which traversed it so incessantly, became living, breathing men, crossing to and fro upon its surface. The smile fled from my lips, and I watched it with redoubled interest. The scene now had a voice which pierced to the inmost depths of my heart. A complete and perfect picture of human life was presented to my imagination, with all its varied peculiarities distinctly exhibited. Some were upon the mart of business, listening to the details of profitable adventure, and planning a thousand ways to add to their increasing wealth. Others were buried in vain amusements, and seemed to derive their highest gratification from the pleasures of sense. There were groups of labourers and artisans employed in useful industry. Farther on were the votaries of science crowding to her gorgeous
temples. Pride was rolling in his chariot, Poverty gleaning the refuse of the streets, and the children were at their sports. All seemed incessantly busy, and alternately enwrapt and wearied with their pursuits. Amid the tumult, strife and gaiety which prevailed, one and another would suddenly disappear from the scene. The child in the height and bloom of its buoyant life was arrested by the cold grasp of Death, and, damp with a mother’s tears, was coffined, and borne away no more to revisit the world. The youth, the man passed in a moment from the scene where all their hopes seemed centered, ushered thence by the same remorseless hand. Nor did the aged escape from the common destiny. Yet still the bustle and activity of all around continued unabated. They seemed not to heed the fate of those who were snatched away, or scarcely to grieve for their absence, but hurried forward in their course as though in the pursuit of some invaluable good.
“What seek they so ardently in I exclaimed aloud. “The object of this search must be of” great moment, since they are thus eager in the “pursuit. Yet what do they attain, but Death 1” Is it this? Is it repose from that unceasing restlessness, that seems inflicted as a curse upon them V
M Nothing is farther from their thoughts, neither “does death bring repose to such as these,” said the same voice which I had before heard.
“What then do they seek?”
“Happiness.”
I could not speak for wondering at this reply. I knew that they were my fellow-men, and wept for their delusion, remembering my own. Can it be so? — I thought — can self-deceit carry its victims so far? Will men never awake to a sense of their true interest? Are all these seeking after happiness? Can those thus natter themselves who are plunged in the pleasures of sin; who seek their own to the injury of others — this world at the expense of another — themselves rather than God?
As I continued to watch what was passing before me, I soon discovered that the success of these infatuated beings in their search for happiness, was such as might be expected from the means they adopted to attain to it. Hope continually animated them, but a hope never realized. Their efforts were unceasing, but vain. Boisterous mirth, exultation, self-gratulation, sometimes lighted up their features, but these emotions would quickly subside, leaving them a prey to disquietude and remorse. The mart of business was a scene of trivial vexations, murmuring, and mutual distrust.
The field of labour and the occupations of industry were crowded with care and hardship, with turmoil and disappointment, and with glittering phantoms that were embraced for substantial reality. Pleasure lighted up its gaudy lamp, while the thoughtless insect that gaily fluttered around it was consumed by its flame. Power struggled over the arena of its conflicts, grasped its little world, and wept that it had not another world to conquer. The sons of pride, slow to learn that earthly good could deceive them, wandered from one source of expectation to another, perpetually disappointed. Even childhood, joyous and careless as it seemed, showed by its continual change and restlessness, that its ultimate desires were unattained. There were hidden recesses also all around this vast scene, which though they courted not the eye, were every where receiving this busy multitude in untold numbers. Here was one indicated by its meagre ornament, where had withdrawn the children of obscurity and insignificance, of disappointment and poverty, of pain and disease. Here was another, huno- in sable, where many a hope was extinguished, and many a swollen and broken heart had retired to conceal its sorrows. And here was another — the place of lamentations and tears — where many an accent of woe was heard, and many a sigh was extorted, which no resolution and no pride of character could suppress.
If there were exceptions to these, I saw them here and there in an humble individual, who in all his course had his eyes stedfastly fixed on heaven. Almost perpetual tranquillity seemed to rest upon his features. Seasons of trial at times assailed him, and misfortune and self-humiliation often cast a cloud over his brow; but it was a cloud coloured with the hues of the rainbow. When my eye followed such a one to that grave into which the rest sank with such reluctance, and not a few of them with despair, I could not discover a regret or a fear interrupting his repose. When Death enfolded him in his cold arms, he seemed insensible to his terrors and fell calmly to rest. I could well understand that such had rightly sought and had truly attained lasting happiness; but for the rest, their object seemed uncertain, their exertions useless, their life a troubled sea, their death unsoothed by remembrance or expectation. And could you ask them, one by one, each would confess that it is a vain thing- to have set his affections on the earth.
“Thou art thyself an actor in this scene,” said the voice. * Examine thy heart and life. See, if
12 “thine own search has not been after happiness — “if thou hast obtained it — and from whence.”
I listened, — I gave myself up to thought, and as the scene before me slowly disappeared, reflections like the following passed through my mind.
It is kind in the Father of mercies to disappoint the hopes that rest on earth, that the soul may find her rest in him. Earth may satisfy the unintellectual creation, but can never satisfy a mind that pants for immortality. The very largeness of its desires makes it unhappy. This world has not enough for such a grasping, undying existence. All excellency and all blessedness meet in God and are derived from him: The Moon at midnight shining upon the dark ocean, the distant promontory towering upon the tempest-tost mariner, the morning star arising on the benighted wanderer of the desert, the opening of the Spring in all the richness and beauty of its vegetation after the chill, bleak blasts of Winter have gone by, are not more gladsome than the light of his countenance when it pours its consolations upon the soul.
Ye then, who are allured by the imaginations of future greatness — ye who are seduced by the hope of wealth — ye who are enchanted by the prospects of pleasure — ye who are charmed by endearments which seem to have the power of beguiling every sorrow, and by a sort of secret incantation controuling the troubled mind; learn from the experience of ten thousand hearts, that this world is but a conflict of desires and expectations which it can never gratify. Pursue it as you will; distribute as you will all its enjoyments; neither its knowledge nor its riches, neither its attachments nor its honours, neither its leisure nor its toil can fill the void which in every virtuous mind is occupied by the love of God. You must look where no human eye has never penetrated to find happiness out of him.