ears of Beethoven, that he might hear the music of St. Cecilia falling
over heaven's battlements. He gave Isaiah a slave's hut, that he might
ponder the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. How is
it that this prophet and poet has become companion of the great ones
of the earth? At the time Isaiah rebelled against his bondage, but
when it was all over, and the fitful fever had passed, and the fleshly
fetters had fallen, he smiled at the things that once alarmed him, as
he recalled his fainting strength and the unwearied God.

Gone--that ancient capital. Babylon is a heap. Jerusalem a ruin! But
this epic of the unwearied Guide still lives! Isaiah, can never die!
Can a chapter die that has cheered the exile in his loneliness, that
has comforted the soldier upon his bivouac, that has braced the martyr
for his execution, that has given songs at midnight to the prisoners
in the dungeon? Out of suffering and captivity came this song of rest
and hope. At last the poet praised the eternal God for his bonds and
his imprisonment. Oh, it is darkness that makes the morning light so
welcome to the weary watcher. It is hunger that makes bread sweet.
It is pain and sickness that gives value to the physician and his
medicine. It is business trouble that makes you honor your lawyer and
counselor, and it is the sense of need that makes God near.

Are there any merchants here who are despondent? Remember the eternal
God and make your appeal to the future. Are there any parents whose
children have wandered far? When they are old, the children will
return to the path of faith and obedience. Are there any in whom the
immortal hope burns low? The smoking flax He will not quench, but will
fan the flame into victory. Look up to-day; be comforted once more.
Work henceforth in hope. Live like a prince. Scatter sunshine. Let
your atmosphere be happiness. If troubles come, let them be the dark