My situation was perilous.  Of the extent of the glacier I could not determine.  In following after me, my companions might have been buried underneath its fall; or the guides might think that there was no possibility of my escape, and thus give up the attempt to rescue me.  All this and more passed through my mind.  What if I should never reach my home, should never look into the faces of those I love!  One quiet look upward, and peace filled my heart.  God was above me, and around me; this terrible solitude spoke of his majesty, his might, his power.  These mountains were in my Redeemer’s hands.  His eye was upon me, and I was safe.

The sun fell behind the western mountains, but his splendors deepening as they died away, were succeeded by the softer beams of the moon that rose full orbed above the lofty horizon.  At first their mild effulgence was only seen on the hoary head of the monarch of the Alps:  but as I gazed, summit after summit caught the silvery lustre, till all above and below me was enveloped in the same glorious light.

Chateaubriand says that mountain elevations are no place for contemplation; and certainly, surrounded by great dangers, it may seem incredible that I indulged in it.  Still, I cannot but attribute my safety to this very state of mind—­looking away from myself, holding fast to my pike-staff, and rising spontaneously to the adoration of that Being who commanded these mighty masses to take their form and place.  Every object seemed in silent but impressive eloquence to celebrate His praise.  The moon, with her attendant stars, the spotless dome of Mont Blanc, the glittering glaciers and the roaring torrents all seemed endowed with a voice to touch the heart of man, and to assure him of a hearing from God.

The moon was rising higher:  forced to keep one position, I was growing stiff and weary, the wind chilled me, and there were ringing noises in my ears:  the enthusiasm that had sustained me grew less.  Would they ever find me?  Glancing downward, I tried to discover lights.  In listening I grew numb, the mountains began to reel around me, the moon and the stars danced before me, my senses began to wander.  Should I attempt to go forward?  Would it not be better to throw myself down?  Once more I looked over the precipice, and just then a horn rang out far below; then a voice apparently nearer.  I tried to answer, but no sound came; I tried to move, but was fast.  The next I remember, a guide was rubbing my breast with his rough hands; while another forced open my mouth and poured something from a flask.  How we got down, I never knew.  But the next day as Dr. Kemper told me of the excitement of the guides as soon as my absence became known to them, and the fall of the glacier, of the fear that I was buried beneath it, and of my state when found, I could only adore still more His goodness that had preserved me, while a still firmer purpose thrilled my being to live for Him.