to the influences of impression and atmosphere than at this time. The
child can not understand their import as they come, but he will feel
them. He does not understand love, but he feels it. He can not
comprehend personality, but his restless little body grows quiet in the
tender arms of a strong father. He responds to the fretfulness or
gentleness of the mother, the noisy confusion or peace of the home.
These multitudinous impressions become his life, though he can not grasp
their meaning.

Just as surely does he drink in impressions which have the Divine
element. What they speak to him only God knows, but some message is
theirs. The picture of the "Good Shepherd," of "Jesus Blessing Little
Children," of the "Madonna and Child," perform their silent ministry to
his soul. He is peculiarly sensitive to the reverence and worship in
lofty music. In the evening tide of a Sabbath day, a father was seated
at the piano, while the two older children stood near, and a wee one of
two and a half years listened from his mother's arms. The songs used in
Sunday School were sung one after the other, and then came the baby
voice, "Papa, sing about Dod." "Do you mean, 'Holy, Holy, Holy is the
Lord'?" he asked. "Yes," was the answer, and in the hush of the
twilight, the worship of the children blended with the worship of the
angels, and who shall say they did not all behold the Father's face?

The nurture of these years is as silent as that of the dewdrop upon the
blade of grass, but it is as real. God's voice is the still, small voice
that ever speaks in quietness. The stillness of the moment at the
mother's knee, the prayer repeated in the reverent, low tone of the
mother's voice, the earnest prayer for him offered in his presence, the
Christ-like living in the home, all carry their holy influence to his
soul. He feels God, without knowing Him. But there shall come a day when