y task so perfectly, the stars which write all over the heavens
the story of God's glory. Go forth into the field and behold his work.
See him preparing the bright cloud, which the winds gently upheave,
from whose bosom drops the softening shower--how richly the grass
springs in the valley--how the golden grain steals splendor from the
sunbeam which has smiled on it so long--how his hand is ever at work
providing for the wants of his creatures, and ever reminding men by
this silent ministry that he is the Author and Giver of every good and
perfect gift. If God hath so clearly revealed the great truth of his
own existence, is it not reasonable to suppose that he hath in like
manner revealed to man that truth concerning his own destiny which it
is most important for him to know?"

"That it is, indeed," replied the young philosopher, "on which we
build our hopes. It is reasonable, and it may be hoped that God will
yet make such a revelation--but, alas! it is only a hope."

"My son, my son, it is no longer a faint, uncertain hope, it is a
matter of perfect certainty, and if thou wilt abide by my words thou
wilt find it so, and it shall give thee, after a season, a peace past
all understanding. If thou wilt but submit thyself to God's teaching
thou shalt no longer grope as the blind at noonday, but a light above
the brightness of the heavens shall shine into thy soul."

The young man bowed his head, and crossed his arms upon his breast, as
he sadly replied, "God's teaching--but where, O, my father, may it be
found, save where I have vainly sought--among his works?"

The old man, without reply, drew a manuscript from his bosom, and
laying his hand on the arm of the other they walked forward together
over the smooth sand, while he read aloud high and burning words,
which the ear of his companion drank eagerly in. Upon that silent
shore, in the still evening air, arose that clear voice, uttering to
the astonished sense of the young heathen philosopher the argument of
Paul the Apostle, in which he persuades the Corinthians of the
resurrection of the dead. He read on and the other listened as one in
a dream, and the sun had gone down over the wide sea and outspread
sands where they walked alone, and one silver star came forth in the
west, the lovely Vesper, and looked at its image in the quiet wave, as
the old man read, with tears which would not be restrained, the mighty
conclusion, "O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, wher