She could not bear it when in church she heard the meanest acts of revenge and petty wounded vanity attributed to Him.

She argued it was because the curate did not know.

Having come from a town, he could not be speaking of the same wonderful God she knew in the woods and fields--the God so loving and tender in the springtime to the budding flowers, so gorgeous in the summer and autumn and so pure and cold in the winter.
With all that to attend to He could not possibly stoop to punish ignorant people and harbor anger and wrath against them.

He was the sunlight and the moonlight and the starlight.

He was the voice which talked in the night and made her never lonely.
And all the other things of nature and the universe were gods, also--lesser ones obeying the supreme force and somehow fused with Him in a whole, being part of a scheme which He had invented to complete the felicity of the world He had created--not beings to be prayed to or solicited for favors, but just gentle, glorious, sympathetic, invisible friends.