'If God knows 'at such things are bein' done, why don't he stop 'em?'
David asked.

'Can't very well,' said Jed Feary.

'Can, if he's omnipotent,' said David.

'That's a bad word--a dangerous one,' said the old poet, dropping his
dialect as he spoke. 'It makes God responsible for evil as well as good.
The word carries us beyond our depth. It's too big for our boots. I'd
ruther think He can do what's doable an' know what's knowable. In the
beginning he gave laws to the world an' these laws are unchangeable,
or they are not wise an' perfect. If God were to change them He would
thereby acknowledge their imperfection. By this law men and races suffer
as they struggle upward. But if the law is unchangeable, can it be
changed for a better cause even than the relief of a whipped slave? In
good time the law shall punish and relieve. The groans of them that
suffer shall hasten it, but there shall be no change in the law. There
can be no change in the law.'

'Leetle hard t' tell jest how powerful God is,' said Uncle Eb. 'Good
deal like tryin' t' weigh Lake Champlain with a quart pail and a pair o'
steelyards.'

'If God's laws are unchangeable, what is the use of praying?' I asked.

'He can give us the strength to bear, the will to obey him an' light to
guide us,' said the poet. 'I've written out a few lines t' read t' Bill
here 'fore he goes off t' college. They have sumthin' t' say on this
subject. The poem hints at things he'd ought 'o learn purty soon--if he
don't know 'em now.'

The old poet felt in his pockets as he spoke, and withdrew a folded
sheet of straw-coloured wrapping paper and opened it. I was 'Bill'-plain
'Bill'--to everybody in that country, where, as you increased your love
of a man, you diminished his name. I had been called Willie, William
and Billy, and finally, when I threw the strong man of the township in a
wrestling match they gave me this fail token of confidence. I bent over
the shoulder of Jed Feary for a view of the manuscript, closely written
with a lead pencil, and marked with many erasures.

'Le's hear it,' said David Brower.

Then I moved the lamp to his elbow and he began reading:

'A talk with William Brower on the occasion of his going away to college
and writ out in rhyme for him by his friend Jedediah Feary to be a token
of respect.

The man that loses faith in God, ye'll find out every time,
Has found a faith in his own self that's mighty nigh sublime.
He knows as much