The Words of the Perrin Family
Finding a quiet spot he knelt down and prayed. The tears were trickling down his cheeks; his hands were clasped tightly together; his body swaying in rhythm to his gushing prayers, that were pouring forth from his lips like volumes of thunder which echo from a darkening sky over and across a great undiscovered valley forming part of hills and ranges impenetrable by their sheer stark unclimbable character. The man's heart throbbed like some great mountain's heart longing to be set free from its overburdening weight, weighing upon that heart as an awful suffocating mound, stifling the breath from the very life itself. But this man, clenching his hands, his wet hair bedraggled, his eyes bloodshot from a thousand tears, his face an agonized expression of desperate anguish, his whole frame vibrating in a strange, unaccountable fashion, this man, whose countenance is well weathered, whose whole being is the being of one who, alone and unencumbered, reflects an awesome unity- unique- of the vast cloudy heavens and the wide (so wide!) expanse of mountain peaks that surround him, leaving him with only the wind-buffeted grass, the earth, the ever-changing weather elements, the few wildlife that survives out here: a solitary figure in human form!
In the eerie twilight air that is so still for so many miles, behind the cloud the sun has been setting. A gathering gloom hastens to chase the daylight away, but unperturbed he prays on, his complexion blending with the grey crags around him -- though the eminence from this man tells of a new light, a warm, pink, spiritual light, transparently in all directions. There is now in his face a feeling of heart-to-heart communication, a divine transfixed expression of the purest golden love mingling in rapture with the source of love. The eyelids, tightly shut, now open, and from those round, watery eyes a shaft of yellow sunlight lightens the darkened valleys, just as a sudden sunbeam of understanding would illuminate a darkness mind.
The casual eye, the untrained observer, the layman, or a standard Christian, the goings-on here, especially the formidable surroundings -- with its looming night-clouds, the blackened mountain ranges, the cold morning wind -- would appear frightening. Here the forces of evil hand together in a gigantic, deathly force-form; somehow the atmosphere building up an ever strong feeling of fear, of a determined, relentless, ruthlessness that, because of its height of anger, and depth of hatred, forms as a blind, black, killing Angel: dressed as the prince of Evil. In this vast, lonesome place, an observer (if only there was one!) might stand aghast and helpless-with a strong impression outlined upon his soul that here he was witnessing a Last Struggle, a Final Stand, between the love of goodness and the love of evil. Myriads of terrifying spirits are aligning themselves with the king of them, who, almost majestically, stands- or hovers -- in a position of the most deadly preparation, his small sparkling green eyes a hideous representation of a monster unparalleled. Deep, deep (so very deep) within the heart of this creature lies a seed, a germ -- a tiny pin-prick of light. But, alas! For centuries it has accumulated the merit of scores of all evil men's deeds; and now, in protection of them and himself, he waits: a monument: the living embodiment of the very Devil himself.
This awful contemptuous being holds in his right hand a two edged sword which just now gleamed slightly in the strange light. It is clear that the grip with which he holds this weapon is vice-like; indeed, his hand may just as well be welded to the handle, for there is strong evidence that nothing or nobody could ever separate hand from handle or handle from hand; that the very centuries themselves that have formed or handle this fiend have added their weight to the bond -- that great and terrible bond-which binds the two together. Lucifer -- for that is the name that attends this dragon of a personality -- coldly eyes below him the scene heretofore described, and instantly a shudder runs through him which sends a vibration of shudderings back and forth among the myriad hosts of black attendants who loom attentively, yet restrained, alert, yet fully obedient to the call of their shocking duty. The king of them all is now pointing his dreaded weapon downward: downward towards the lonesome man who kneels alone- his only friend and comforter the bare rocks that support him.
There is a stir in the air. It is as if the whole had gone quiet, awakening again only to behind a scene of the most chilling expectancy, yet tremendously afraid of what must be the obvious result. A most heart-rending sadness would fill the onlookers with a depth of pity unprecedented by any previous experience, but more tragic than the sorrow of what is to come, is the knowledge that there is no single sympathizer here or afar off who could possibly bear the agony and intensity of the mounting spiritual conflict. At the action of the pointed sword the hosts of hell converge and accompany their grotesque leader as with mounting passionate fear and terrible desire the entire diabolical assembly begin to fix their evil concentrative powers together as a unit -- which has Destruction as their one aim and purpose.
The man has risen. He stands erect unwaveringly, and, as he looks up, there is a great and wonderful power in his bearing. He utters in a mighty voice a single word -- a single astonishing word -- the effect of which has produced an amazing result, for where the formidable army were then openly aggressive, now they are each and every one of them bowed down -- with Lucifer himself prostrate, his sword gone, and his body atrembling. -
With the rising of the dawn the man descends the rocky mountain with easy strides, gradually becoming one with the emerging shrubbery and grassy patches; and as the first rays of light bring the colors back to life, the dew on their leaves trickle and sparkle in a way which says with welcoming gratitude "0 happy day! Our tears have gone now that you have overcome".