bodied soul.

But the appeal and the argument were never to passion, or prejudice, or
mere sensibility. Fear and horror, and every kind of physical emotion, so
to say, were impossible in the calmness and sweetness of the assurance of
the Divine presence. It was a Father whose message the preacher brought.
Like as a father so the Lord pitieth His children, said he, in tones that
trickled like tears over the hearts of his hearers, although his voice
was equable and unbroken. He went on to show what the children of such a
Father must needs be--to show that, however sinful, and erring, and lost,
yet the Father had sent to tell them that the doctrine of wrath was of
old time; that the eye for the eye, and the tooth for the tooth, was
the teaching of an imperfect knowledge; that a faith which was truly
childlike knew the Creator only as a parent; and that out of such faith
alone arose the life that was worthy of him.

Wandering princes are we! cried the preacher, with a profound ecstasy
and exultation in his tone, while the very light of heaven shone in his
aspect--wandering princes are we, sons of the Great King. In foreign
lands outcast and forlorn, groveling with the very swine in the mire, and
pining for the husks that the swine do eat; envying, defying, hating,
forgetting--but never hated nor forgot; in the depths of our rage, and
impotence, and sin--in the darkest moment of our moral death, when we
would crucify the very image of that Parent who pities us--there is one
voice deeper and sweeter than all music, the voice of our elder brother
pleading with that common Father--"Forgive them, forgive them, for they
know not what they do!"

He sat down, but the congregation did not move. Leaning forward, with
upraised eyes glistening with tears and beaming with sympathy, with hope,
with quickened affection, they sat motionless, seemingly unwilling to
destroy the holy calm in which, with him, they had communed with their
Father. There were those in the further part of the church who did not
hear; but their mouths were open with earnest attention; their eyes
glittered with moisture; for they saw afar off that slight, rapt figure;
and so strong was the common sympathy of the audience that they seemed to
feel what they could not hear.

Lawrence Newt did not look round for Aunt Martha. But he thought of her
listening to the discourse, as one thinks of dry fields in a saturating
summer rain. She sat through the whole--black, imm