GLACIER POINT.
Mountains, mountains, mountains! Piled up like Titanic boulders,
snow-capped and ice-bound, tumbling down from the far-off glassy sides
of Mt. Lyell and Mt. Dana to the edge of that stupendous chasm.
Gleaming glaciers, great ice rivers, eternal snow drifts, dark, bare,
rugged peaks for a background. For a foreground, all the beauty of the
valley far below you, three thousand feet or more, as, holding your
breath, you gaze straight down the dizzy height from the projecting
table rock. El Capitan on the left, the Yosemite Falls dancing down in
three great leaps opposite; the Half Dome and Cloud's Rest off to the
right, Vernal and Nevada Falls pouring their torrent over the cliffs
at your side, the Hetchy-Hetchy Valley, the rolling plateau that
stretches back to the perpetual snow and rising peaks behind you. All
language falters here. Tongue can never describe, only the soul feels,
the awfulness, the vastness, the sublimity, the stupendousness, the
wild grandeur of the scene. Such is Glacier Point.
Here, speechless, overawed, and with the loftiest emotions sweeping
over their souls, Job Malden and Jane Reed stood alone amid a silence
broken only by the sighing of the trees back of them.
It was toward sunset of a June afternoon. For hours they had been
climbing up the long, steep, winding trail that picks its way along
the side of the cliff from back of the Valley Chapel toward Sentinel
Peak, over the jutting point, and over the cliff's edge to this
wonderful spot. Weary and foot-sore, they had reached it, only to have
all thought of self overwhelmed and forgotten in that vision of
visions which burst upon their eyes and souls. How long they stood
there in utter silence they knew not. Time was lost in eternity. At
last the tears began to trickle down Jane's cheeks and she sobbed, "It
is grand, it is too grand! I have seen God! I cannot look any more!"
while Job stood entranced, forgetful of Jane, forgetful of self,
utterly absorbed in the consciousness of infinite power. Then he began
to repeat in a solemn voice that favorite Psalm of his: "I will lift
up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help
cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth."
The saucy call of a squirrel in a tall pine near, the chill of the
evening air coming down from the ice-fields, brought them at last to a
consciousness of themselves. Withdrawing to a sheltered nook away from
the dizzy cliff, and so hid among the trees that all view was shut off
except that scene of dazzling beauty, the glitter of the setting sun
on the distant Lyell glacier, Job and Jane sat down for the first real
heart-to-heart talk they had ever known in their lives. They talked of
the years gone by; of the outward story that the world may read, of
the inner story that only the heart knows. Their theme was Christ,
their mutual Friend, who had been the cheer and strength of all those
years. Memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime that night. Jane
talked of childhood days, of her mother's grave and Blackberry Valley,
and of the old camp-meeting in Pete Wilkins' barn on that
never-to-be-forgotten Saturday night, when, lonely and heart-broken,
she had knelt on the hard floor at the bench and whispered, "Just as I
am, without one plea." Then her face brightened as she looked up and
said, "Oh, Job, He came, and I was so happy! And, somehow, home has
not been so lonely since then, and--I don't know; it may seem strange
to you, Job--Jesus is just as real to me as you are. He is with me all
the time; and, when I am tired, he says, 'Come unto me, and I will
give you rest'; when father is so cross, and the tears just will come,
he whispers, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be
afraid. My peace I give unto you.' And he does. It comes so sweetly,
and I feel so still, so rested! I know he is right beside me. Isn't it
grand, Job, to feel we are His and He will always love us, and that He
is so near us? It seems as if I heard His step now and He was standing
by us. I know He is. I like that hymn we sang Communion Sunday--'Fade,
fade, each earthly joy, Jesus is mine.'"
A moment they sat in silence, while the sun transformed the far-off
glacier into a lake of glory, and then sank behind El Capitan for the
night. Then Job spoke. A long while he talked. The memories of
childhood; the sweet face that grew strangely white in the city of the
plains and left him; the early days at Pine Tree Ranch; the steps of a
downward life; that grand old camp-meeting and what it did for him--of
these he spoke, and yet did not cease. The years of youth and young
manhood, the bitter persecutions and temptations, the triumphs through
the personal presence and help of the Master, were his theme. For the
first time a human friend learned the real story of that awful night
in the second tunnel and the long, long day in the lonely Gulch. The
young man grew excited and stood up as he paid loving tribute to the
reality of religion in his life and the tender, most divine friendship
of Jesus Christ. Then he hesitated; but only for a moment. He told her
of his sins; of those days of doubt when he yielded to the tempter's
power and how near he came to losing his soul. He could not finish it,
but strode off alone. At last he came, and, sitting down, said:
"Jane, all I am I owe to Jesus Christ. The story of his love, and what
he has been to me, is more wonderful than any story of fiction. 'More
wonderful it seems than all the golden fancies of all our golden
dreams.'"
[Illustration: View from Glacier Point.]
The twilight was deepening, the great mountains were fading away in
the distance, the evening star was just peering over the horizon as,
standing together by the iron rail that protects Table Rock--standing,
as it seemed, in the choir loft of the eternities, they sang
together--Job in his rich tenor, Jane in her sweet soprano:
"All hail the power of Jesus' name,
Let angels prostrate fall.
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown him Lord of all."
As the moonlight stole down from the mountain summits to the edge of
the further cliff and then plunged down to light the valley, Job and
Jane still sat and talked. Was it strange that somehow the hidden love
of long years would out that night, and, talking of life's holiest
experiences and secret longings and loftiest dreams, somehow, before
they knew it, they talked of love? Secrets locked in the heart's
deepest chambers found voice that night. The unuttered longings of the
years found language. Not as children prattle of sudden impulses, not
as Job had blushed and simpered once; but with the consciousness of
manhood and womanhood, and divinity within, they talked of how their
lives had grown together till, in all that is holy and best, they were
already one.
At last they started down the trail. It was late. The moon had crossed
the sky dome of the valley and was hastening toward Eagle Peak. A
peace and silence that could be felt filled the world, and found a
deep response in their souls. They were going down from the Mount of
Transfiguration, one with God, one with each other. Love, pure and
holy, was master of their lives. A joy unspeakable filled their
hearts. The culmination of the years had come. With the forests and
mountains for witness, under the evening sky, with innumerable worlds
looking down, with the presence of Infinite Power all about them, Jane
Reed and Job Malden had, once for all, plighted their love to God and
each other.