Fear and horror, and every kind of physical emotion, so to say, were impossible in the calmness and sweetness of the assurance of the Divine presence.

It was a Father whose message the preacher brought.
Like as a father so the Lord pitieth His children, said he, in tones that trickled like tears over the hearts of his hearers, although his voice was equable and unbroken.

He went on to show what the children of such a Father must needs be--to show that, however sinful, and erring, and lost, yet the Father had sent to tell them that the doctrine of wrath was of old time; that the eye for the eye, and the tooth for the tooth, was the teaching of an imperfect knowledge; that a faith which was truly childlike knew the Creator only as a parent; and that out of such faith alone arose the life that was worthy of him.
Wandering princes are we! cried the preacher, with a profound ecstasy and exultation in his tone, while the very light of heaven shone in his aspect--wandering princes are we, sons of the Great King.

In foreign lands outcast and forlorn, groveling with the very swine in the mire, and pining for the husks that the swine do eat; envying, defying, hating, forgetting--but never hated nor forgot; in the depths of our rage, and impotence, and sin--in the darkest moment of our moral death, when we would crucify the very image of that Parent who pities us--there is one voice deeper and sweeter than all music, the voice of our elder brother pleading with that common Father--"Forgive them, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" He sat down, but the congregation did not move.

Leaning forward, with upraised eyes glistening with tears and beaming with sympathy, with hope, with quickened affection, they sat motionless, seemingly unwilling to destroy the holy calm in which, with him, they had communed with their Father.