we, and what is our father's house, that Thou shouldest be mindful of us, or visit us?"
With reflections like these, let me view the expanse of heaven. Higher reverence for God and deeper self-knowledge will thus be cherished. Gratitude should also spring up at the thought, that from His lofty habitation above the stars He should deign to take note of us, worms at the footstool. Never again would I be a discordant string in the harmony of His creation. I would rejoice to devote my time, my talents, my being to Him, their Author.
Humility is the robe in which the highest archangel stands before the Throne. It would be fitting for us, were we perfect in innocence. But when we think of our native frailty—of our follies, derived, habitual, and, stranger still, forgotten—we shudder at the thought of human pride, and are lost in astonishment at the Divine forbearance, like the Psalmist-king, or repeat the words of the poet who sometimes caught his devout, tuneful spirit:
"That God who darts His lightnings down,
Who rules the worlds above,
And mountains tremble at His frown—
How wondrous is His love!
