the earth almost continuously, and it no more involves the theory of
malignant Nature than that of an angry God.

If we contemplate it, possibly we may be helped to a profitable estimate
of our own relative insignificance. We think, with some notion of our
importance, of the thousand million men who live upon the earth; but
they are a mere handful of animate atoms in comparison with the surface,
to say nothing of the solid contents, of the globe itself.

We are fond of boasting in this latter day of man's marvelous success
in subduing the forces of Nature; and, while we are in the midst of
exultation over our victories, Nature tumbles the rocks about somewhere
within the bowels of the earth, and we have to learn the old lesson that
our triumphs have not penetrated farther than to the very outermost rim
of the realms of Nature.

A few weak, almost helpless, creatures, we millions of men stand upon
the deck of a great ship, which goes rolling through space that is
itself incomprehensible, and usually we are so busy with our paltry
ambitions, our transgressions, our righteous labors, our prides and
hopes and entanglements that we forget where we are and what is our
destiny. A direct interposition from a Superior Power, even if it
be hurtful to the body, might be required to persuade us to stop and
consider and take anew our bearings, so that we may comprehend in some
larger degree our precise relations to things. The wisest men have
been the most ready to recognize the beneficence of the discipline of
affliction. If there were no sorrow, we should be likely to find the
school of life unprofitable.

For one thing, the school wherein sorrow is a part of the discipline is