hing we realise there is a Power constant and
dependable in whom we can absolutely put our trust.

This is the impression--the impression of steadfastness, constancy,
and reliability--which a nightly contemplation of the stars makes
upon us. At the foundation of things is something dependable,
something in which we can repose our faith. And so the sense of
calm and confidence we feel.

And in the desert we have no feeling that the stars pursue their
course in cold indifference to us--that the Power which sustains
them works its soulless way unregardful of the frettings of us little
men. Not thus are we who watch the desert stars impressed. Quite
otherwise. For nowhere do we feel the Influence nearer, more
intimate or more beneficent. We seem in the very midst of the great
Presence. We are immersed in it. It is pervading us on every side.
We do not expect it to alter the whole course of Nature for our
private good. But we feel confident that the course of Nature is for
_good_--that Nature is a beneficent and no callous Power, and has
good at heart. _Because_ the foundations are so sure and good we
can each pursue our way in confidence. This is the impression we
get.

And the Power which guides the stars upon their heavenly way, and
which, in guiding them, guides us across the desert, does not reside,
we feel, in lonely grandeur in the empty places of the heavens, but in
the stars themselves--in their very constitution--in each individually
and in all in their togetherness. It burns in each star and shines forth
from it, and yet holds the whole together as we see it every night in
that circling vault around us. The Activity does not appear to us to
emanate from some Invisible Being dwelling wholly apart and
isolated from the stars and this Earth, and sending forth invisible
spiritual rays, as the Sun stands apart from the Earth but sends out
rays of sunlight to it. It seems rather to dwell in the very heart and
centre of each star, and the stars seem _spiritual_ rather than
material beings. So this Power, as we experience it in the desert,
does not impress us as being awful and remote, gloomy and
inexorable, enforcing unbending law and exacting terrible penalties.
Our impression of it is that, though it preserves order with unfailing
regularity, it is yet near and kindly, radiating with light and warmth.
We not only feel it to be something steadfast, something on which
we can rely and in which we may have confidence;