Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To

It Is A View Of God That Compensates Every Thing Else, And Enables The Soul To Rest In His Bosom. How, When The Child In The Night Screams With Terror, Hearing Sounds That It Knows Not Of, Is That Child Comforted And Put To Rest? Is It By A Philosophical Explanation That The Sounds Were Made By The Rats In The Partition? Is It By Imparting Entomological Knowledge? No; It Is By The Mother Taking The Child In Her Lap, And Singing Sweetly To It, And Rocking It. And The Child Thinks Nothing Of The Explanation, But Only Of The Mother.

Beauty May Be Said To Be God's Trademark In Creation.

There Can Be No Barrenness In Full Summer. The Very Sand Will Yield Something. Rocks Will Have Mosses, And Every Rift Will Have Its Wind-flower, And Every Crevice A Leaf; While From The Fertile Soil Will Be Reared A Gorgeous Troop Of Growths, That Will Carry Their Life In Ten Thousand Forms, But All With Praise To God. And So It Is When The Soul Knows Its Summer. Love Redeems Its Weakness, Clothes Its Barrenness, Enriches Its Poverty, And Makes Its Very Desert To Bud And Blossom As The Rose.

God's Providence Is On The Side Of Clear Heads.

Men Go Shopping Just As Men Go Out Fishing Or Hunting, To See How Large A Fish May Be Caught With The Smallest Hook.