o confusion, and bringing utter chaos, where
now all is order. The mother sees her little child die, she lays it in
its coffin, and surrenders it to the grave, and her heart rebels
against the Providence that snatched away her treasure. In her agony,
she appeals reproachfully to Heaven, and asks, 'Why am I thus
bereaved?' Foolish mother! impeach not the wisdom of your bereavement.
Mysterious as it may be, know this, that in the councils of eternity
your sorrows were considered, and the decree which took from you your
darling, was ordered in mercy. Pestilence sweeps over the land; a wail
is on the air. Peace, mourners, be still! The pestilence has a mission
of mercy, mysterious as it may be to us. The storm lashes the ocean
into fury; tall ships, freighted with human souls, go down into its
relentless depths; a shriek of agony comes gurgling up from the
devouring waters; a cry of woe is heard from a thousand homes over the
wrecked and the lost. Peace, again, mourners! The storm has a mission
of mercy. It may never be comprehended by us here, but when the veil
shall be lifted, as in God's good time it doubtless will be, we shall
see how the pestilence and the storm, that cost so many tears, were
essential to the harmony of a glorious system, a perfect plan, and
that seeming sorrow was at last the occasion of unspeakable joy. Let
no man say that this or that law, or operation of nature, were better
changed, until he can fathom the designs of God; till he can create a
planet, and send it on its everlasting round; till he can place a star
in the firmament; till he can breathe upon a statue, the workmanship
of his own hands, and be obeyed when he commands it to walk forth a
thing of life; till he can dip his hand into chaos and throw off
worlds. The 'cold storms of winter' are essential to the enjoyment of
the brightness and glory, the genial sunshine, the pleasant foliage,
the blossoms and the odors of spring. They have their uses, and chill
and dreary and desolate as they may be, they are parts of an
arrangement ordered by infinite goodness and omnipotent wisdom.

"'I should like to be a big strong man like father is!' How like a boy
was this? Thirsting for the strength, the might and power of manhood!
And this is the aspiration of the young heart always; to be mature,
strong to grapple with the cares, and wrestle with the stern
actualities of life. How little of these does childhood know! How
little does it calculate the c