before his awful presence,
and there is but little conscious depths of inner reverence and devotion
to his name. There is a blessed and sure remedy for this serious
trouble. Carefully watch your meditations. Call the oftener upon God in
some silent, secret place. Select some secluded, hallowed place, where
nature is most inspiring for meditation. Isaac, the son of Abraham, went
into the field at eventide to meditate. The evening is a time well
suited to draw the soul out into deep, intimate communion with God.
The the setting of the sun is a reminder of life's setting sun. You will
be brought face to face with the fact that you must some day stand
before Him who created all things. Your meditations will become serious.
Oh, may you adore the Creator, and learn to admire his wondrous works!
Go forth in the starry evening, when Nature is most inviting, and
through her let your soul adore the Almighty, and let all within you be
awed to solemn stillness at his footfall.

Idle, careless thoughts generate a stupidity that will rob you of joy.
The sensibilities of your inner nature will become deadened, and you can
no more hear the solemn footsteps of the Lord, nor the whispers of his
voice. Meditating upon pure and holy things and seeing God in all, will
elevate the soul to a plane all radiant with light and love, and put a
meekness and modesty in your life and a sweet gentleness in every
expression that will seem to make you akin to angels.

Are you concerned about the peace of your soul? Is a happy life worth
anything to you? Do you have any desire to become more like Jesus? Do
you want to do all you can for him? Do you want to dwell in heaven with
him forever? Then let your meditation be upon him, and your soul sipping
at the fountain of Heaven's love as the flower drinks up the dew. I can
not be too earnest in my exhortation to you in this matter. I know how
important it is. I want to see you prosper and your soul increase in
God; therefore I exhort you to meditate upon his law day and night.

REVERIE.

Down beside the rippling river
'Neath-the weeping willow-tree,
Viewing nature sweet and lovely,
Wond'ring what must heaven be.

List'ning to the merry songsters
In the near-by leafy world;
Such sweet music seems to bear me
Nearer to the gates of gold.

Breezes murm'ring through the branches,
Waters rippling o'er the stone,
What, oh, what must be the anthem
Ringing round the great white throne