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Memoirs of William Miller - Sylvester Bliss

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and the mail had not arrived; therefore, no letter<br />

from my Lucy. How unpropitious are these strong<br />

winds! -- or is my Lucy unkind?<br />

“But a short time, and, like Spencer, I shall be<br />

no more. It is a solemn thought. Yet, could I be<br />

sure <strong>of</strong> one other life, there would be nothing<br />

terrific; but to go out like an extinguished taper, is<br />

insupportable -- the thought is doleful. No! rather<br />

let me cling to that hope which warrants a neverending<br />

existence; a future spring, where troubles<br />

shall cease, and tears find no conveyance; where<br />

never-ending spring shall flourish, and love, pure<br />

as the driven snow, rest in every breast.<br />

“Dear Lucy, do write to me, and let me know<br />

how you pass your time.<br />

“Good-evening. I am troubled.<br />

Wm. <strong>Miller</strong>.”<br />

As Mr. <strong>Miller</strong> has expressed his horror <strong>of</strong> the<br />

infidel doctrine <strong>of</strong> annihilation in the above letter,<br />

119

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