laining how it is that a sense of justice
should be implanted in man by the Power that appears so often to violate
that conception of justice.

The fact is that the progress of science has created an immense demand
for the quality of faith and hopefulness, by revealing so much that is
pessimistic in the operation of natural law. If we are to live with any
measure of contentment or tranquillity, we must acquire a confidence
that God has not, as science tends to indicate, made all men for nought.
We must, if we can, acquire some sort of hope that it is not in mere
wantonness and indifference that He confronts us with the necessity for
bearing the things that He has made us most to dread. It may be easy
enough for robust, vigorous, contented persons to believe that God means
us well; but the only solution that is worth anything is a solution that
shall give us courage, patience, and even joy, at times when everything
about us seems to speak of cruelty and terror and injustice. One of
the things that has ministered comfort in large measure to souls so
afflicted is the power of tracing a certain beauty and graciousness
in the phenomena that surround us. Who is there who in moments of
bewildered sorrow has not read a hint of some vast lovingness, moving
dimly in the background of things, in the touch of familiar hands or in
the glances of dear eyes? Surely, they have said to themselves, if love
is the deepest, strongest, and most lasting force in the world, the same
quality must be hidden deepest in the Heart of God. This is the unique
strength of the Christian revelation, the thought of the Fatherhood of
God, and His tender care for all that he has made. Again, who is there
who in depression and anxiety has not had his load somewhat lightened
by the sight of the fresh green of spring foliage against a blue sky, by
the colour and scent of flowers, by the sweet melody of musical chords?
The aching spirit has said, "They are there--beauty, and peace, and
joy--if I could but find the way to them." Who has not had his fear of
death alleviated by the happy end of some beloved life, when the dear
one has made, as it were, solemn haste to be gone, falling gently into
slumber? Who is there, who, speeding homewards in the sunset, has seen
the dusky orange veil of flying light drawn softly westward over misty
fields, where the old house stands up darkling among the glimmering
pastures, and has not felt the presence of some sweet secret