inual lesson to the soul--the lesson
of learning patiently to continue some sordid work in this world,
after finding the joys of the spiritual life.

What are amongst the most noticeable changes in the mind? first, we
notice it has become very simple in its requirements, and very
restful; it no longer darts here and there gathering in this and that of
fancied treasures, as a bird darts at flies; it has dropped outside
objects, in order to hover around thoughts of God, which at the same
time are not particularised, but, as it were, quietly, contentedly, float
in a general and peaceful fragrance of beauty.

Ordinarily the mind would find it difficult to hover in this way with
such a singleness of intent, but in certain other cases we see the
same contentment--in the mother beside her babe: though she may
not talk to it, or touch it, she is happy; she knows it near; she is
secretly giving to it. We see it in the babe also: it gazes at its mother
and is quiet; if the mother removes herself, the child may cry; no
one has hurt it--merely, it has ceased to be happy because the object
of its desire has gone too far from it, has disappeared. We see it also
in two lovers; they sit near together, and the more they love the
fewer words they require to speak: they are happy: they require very
few words, very few thoughts. Separate them, and they spend their
time uneasily in sending messages, in thinking numberless yearning
thoughts which become painful, and, if continued for long, can
affect the health. Put them together again, and they barely say two
words: their joy at meeting occupies the whole of their attention. It
is the same when we love God. The heart, and the mind, and the soul
are blissfully content, they are in a love-state, they bask in His
Presence; but that we should be aware of His Presence--this is His
gift, this is the vast difference between our former and our present
state.

When we have become experienced in this Presence of God, the
Reason tries very earnestly to comprehend the manner of it. Christ
says that when love is established between God and a man, "My
Father and I will come to him and make our abode with him." How
can such a tremendous thing as this be carried out without, as it were,
burning the man up with the greatness of it? Does God, then, when
experienced feel to be a Fire? Yes, and no, for we feel that we shall
be consumed, and yet it is not burning but a blissful energy of the
most inexpressi