Infinite God, I feel Him immanent in every particle of matter, in each atom of Spirit; and how can I fear? The nodding of a school-boy's top is not the measure for the oscillations of a world.
The greatest present evil is small compared to what man has already lived through and so far overpowered, that most men deem it blasphemy to say they ever were. Absolute Evil is not in Error, its misery is its check, points to its cure, helps to its end. Is it in Sin? Yea, if Sin were endless; to act wrong, think wrong, feel wrong, be wrong,—at variance with self, with Nature, and with God—that is misery, absolute evil were it endless. Not only is all the analogy of the universe against the monstrous thought, each drop of Science drained off from the world of space and time corroding and eating away this ugly thing; but the Idea of God's Infinite Perfection annihilates the boyish dream. Suppose I am the blackest of sinners, that as Cain I slew my brother, as Iscariot I betrayed him—and such a brother,—or as a New-England kidnapper I sold him to be a slave,—and blackened with such a sin I come to die,—still I am the child of God, of the Infinite God; He foresaw the consequences of my faculties, of the freedom He gave me, of the circumstances which girt me round, and do you think He knows not how to bring me back, that He has not other circumstances in store to waken other faculties and lead me home, compensating my variable hate with His own Constant Love!
"Come, then, expressive silence, muse His praise."
THE END.
