, they "hid themselves" from His
presence "amongst the trees." In other words, the cords of love which
up to that point bound man to God were rudely severed. Before this the
thought of God filled their souls with joy; they loved to hear His
voice in the whisperings of the wind, to see His smile in the merry
sunshine, to trace His power in the structure of the heavens; but now
all was mysteriously changed, things which previously ministered to
their enjoyment became a source of terror.

Why should the love of the world lead to this result? It is because
God must be all or nothing to the human soul. The first commandment in
the law is--"_Thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thine heart,
with all thy soul, and with all thy might_." This is not an arbitrary
enactment, but it has its ground in the eternal fitness of things. God
is the infinitely powerful, the infinitely wise, and the infinitely
good, and as such demands the undivided love of man. Anything less
than this, not only falls below His lawful claim, but also fails to
satisfy our profoundest aspirations. As Augustine puts it, "Thou hast
made us for Thyself; our hearts are restless, until they find rest in
Thee." But it may be asked, Does love to God exclude all other loves?
By no means. The second commandment in the law, "_Thou shalt love thy
neighbour as thyself_," is inseparable from the first. It is
impossible to obey the one without obeying the other. Obedience that
does not regard both is partial, and therefore futile. The reason is
plain. God is immanent in creation. The Christian beholds God in
everything, and everything in God. Thus it comes to pass that his
supreme love--his love to God--intensifies, ennobles, and hallows every
other. If you would have an example of the highest type of love--love
to God manifesting itself as love to man--go to a Christian home, and
you will find it there in all its charm, uniting husband and wife,
parents and children, master and servants, making the house a veritable
"paradise regained."

There is a sense in which the Christian even loves the world--loves it
as no other man can love it--that is, when the term is applied to the
wondrous system of nature. He loves sometimes to wander in the fields,
where innumerable lovely forms, both animate and inanimate, reveal
their beauty to the eye; and at other times to meditate upon the
illimitable expanse of heaven, crowded by ten thousand worlds, which
all