Hourly , while it speaks a moral to the few that think , it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their separate and most secret affairs . It is the steeple , too , that flings abroad the hurried and irregular accents of general alarm ; neither have gladness and festivity found a better utterance , than by its tongue ; and when the dead are slowly passing to their home , the steeple has a melancholy voice to bid them welcome . Yet , in spite of this connection with human interests , what a moral loneliness , on week-days , broods round about its stately height ! It has no kindred with the houses above which it towers ; it looks down into the narrow thoroughfare , the lonelier , because the crowd are elbowing their passage at its base . A glance at the body of the church deepens this impression . Within , by the light of distant windows , amid refracted shadows , we discern the vacant pews and empty galleries , the silent organ , the voiceless pulpit , and the clock , which tells to solitude how time is passing . Time , -- where man lives not , -- what is it but eternity ? And in the church , we might suppose , are garnered up , throughout the week , all thoughts and feelings that have reference to eternity , until the holy day comes round again , to let them forth . Might not , then , its more appropriate site be in the outskirts of the town , with space for old trees to wave around it , and throw their solemn shadows over a quiet green ? We will say more of this , hereafter . But , on the Sabbath , I watch the earliest sunshine , and fancy that a holier brightness marks the day , when there shall be no buzz of voices on the exchange , nor traffic in the shops , nor crowd , nor business , anywhere but at church . Many have fancied so . For my own part , whether I see it scattered down among tangled woods , or beaming broad across the fields , or hemmed in between brick buildings , or tracing out the figure of the casement on my chamber-floor , still I recognize the Sabbath sunshine . And ever let me recognize it ! Some illusions , and this among them , are the shadows of great truths . Doubts may flit around me , or seem to close their evil wings , and settle down ; but so long as I imagine that the earth is hallowed , and the light of heaven retains its sanctity , on the Sabbath , -- while that blessed sunshine lives within me , -- never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith . If it have gone astray , it will return again . I love to spend such pleasant Sabbaths , from morning till night , behind the curtain of my open window . Are they spent amiss ? Every spot , so near the church as to be visited by the circling shadow of the steeple , should be deemed consecrated ground , to-day .
With stronger truth be it said , XXXXX a devout heart may consecrate a den of thieves , as an evil one may convert a temple to the same .
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