My master's life the lesson taught
When scoffed, reviled-to answer not-
That lesson, shadowing forth thy will,
Now bids my murmuring heart, 'Be still.'

I know when passion's storms have passed
A peaceful summer-time shall bless

The faithful, chastened soul at last―
That who will bravely onward press
Through warring winds, shall win the palm;
So, cometh storm, or cometh clam,

I bow me, Father, to thy will,

And bid my murmuring heart, 'Be still.'

'DEEP CALLETH UNTO DEEP.'

BY E. H. CHAPIN.

IN collecting those indications of design which prove the existence of God, we should consider not only the intrinsic perfection of each thing, but its adaptation to other things. The human eye, as a mere organic structure, is exquisite, and demonstrates a Divine Intelligence. But if in this instance we would bring out the full argument, we must refer to that incompleteness in the organ considered by itself, which requires the existence of something else—some correspondent or reciprocal fact. In the adaptation and demand of the eye for light, we may argue, a priori, the existence and the conditions of light. No doubt, on the other hand, from the phenomena of light, we might argue the peculiarities of the eye. However indicative of design each may be in itself, it is incomplete by itself. The eye would be useless in total darkness, and the light would be insignificant if it struck upon a sightless world. There is more expressive evidence of design, then, in the reciprocal fitness than in the intrinsic arrangements of each.

So in any other instance which we might select, the grandest witness to an Infinite mind appears in the mutual adjustment of all things in the call and response of one thing to another. The unsightly weed solicits the sun, and the sun has correspondence with it; and who can estimate the profit which, in turn, the great orb draws from its humble pensioner? The tremulous dew-drop clings to the law of gravity, while that all-pervading force which binds the ocean to its channel is affected by the particle of water. So in the complex system of the whole, each thing craves some other thing, and both gives and receives. And, from this point of view, I repeat, the indications of design expand from isolated expressions of creative skill into the scope of an Infinite purpose. We admire not only a minute ingenuity and a particular beauty; but we wonder at the illimitable thought which precipitated such a plan, comprehended in its forecast all the possibilities of being, and through the diversity of each, established the mutual dependence and the harmony of the whole. This, most of all, makes us exclaim, with the inspired singer —‘O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all !'

But while the philosopher detects everywhere this reciprocal fitness, this call and response of one thing to another; a refined spirit not only sees, but

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hears it. Translating the scientific fact into devout poetry, to him the material universe breaks out in sweet and lofty harmony. Even those things which give no sound to the ear, he overhears by a finer sense. That perfect correspondence which is detected only by the eye, to him expresses the essence all melody. And thus the silent works of God bear their part in the mighty anthem. The rainbow and the moist verdure, the moonlight and the dew, interchange harmonies. 'Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.' The mountains lift up their everlasting canticles, and the firmament is an unrolled scroll written all

over with gorgeous music. As to the voices of nature, not one of them mars the great accord. The thunder peals like an organ, and the shivering forest answers like harpstrings. The cataract chimes with the descending rain, and the rustling of the withered leaf is tuned to the sob of the tempest. The echo of the falling rock winds into the universal chorus, and in this sense-though it may not be strictly that in which the psalmist spoke-'Deep calleth unto deep.'

For by quoting the words used as the title of this article, I propose to illustrate the great law of correspondence. Those words suggest this call and response of one thing to another this reciprocal fitness- as maintained not only among inanimate

things, but in our own relations as human beings. Let us, then, proceed to consider this fact as it exists in the material universe, between man and man, between man and God.

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First, then, we perceive this law of correspondence, in our relations to the material universe. When we look around us thoughtfully in nature, we feel the presence of something greater than matter. There is a symbol-language, an inspiration, which communicates with us as the spiritual to the spiritual; something which out of the highest moods and aspects of the universe assures us of our relation to higher forms of existence, of a secret affinity with the cause, the purpose, and the hidden life of nature. There are men, proud of their supposed shrewdness, or common sense,' as they term it, who call any suggestion like this poetic nonsense,' or transcendental mysticism;' not realizing that poetry and the mood from which it springs are the highest expression of intelligence; not realizing that the objects of faith must necessarily transcend those of sense, and that, often, it is impossible to define them. But the fact now referred to is not mystical, or merely poetical. It is true that the mass of men are too often ignorant of what is best in nature. Absorbed themselves in a daily routine of the senses, they treat it as though it were only a body, or do not perceive that it has a soul-which soul is God.