nts of colour. I pace
to and fro, wondering, musing. All here seems so permanent, so still,
so secure, and yet we are spinning and whirling through space to some
unknown goal. What are the thoughts of the mighty unresting Heart, to
whose vastness and agelessness the whole mass of these flying and
glowing suns are but as a handful of dust that a boy flings upon the
air? How has He set me here, a tiny moving atom, yet more sure of my
own minute identity than I am of all the vast panorama of things which
lie outside of me? Has He indeed a tender and a patient thought of me,
the frail creature whom He has moulded and made? I do not doubt it; I
look up among the star-sown spaces, and the old aspiration rises in my
heart, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him! that I might come even
into His presence!" How would I go, like a tired and sorrowful child to
his father's knee, to be comforted and encouraged, in perfect trust and
love, to be raised in His arms, to be held to His heart! He would but
look in my face, and I should understand without a question, without a
word.

Now in its mouldering turret the old clock wakes and stirs, moves its
jarring wires, and the soft bell strikes midnight. Another of my few
short days gone, another step nearer to the unseen. Slowly but not
sadly I return, for I have been for a moment nearer God; the very
thought that rises in my mind, and turns my heart to His, comes from
Him. He would make all plain, if He could; He gives us what we need;
and when we at last awake we shall be satisfied.

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's From a College Window, by Arthur Christopher Benson

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