loveliness and significance of the smallest object, the fern on the
bank and the lichen on the wall, we feel indeed that heaven is not so
much a yonder, towards which we are to move, as a here and a now,
which we are to realise.

A walk to church in town is a different thing. Man's works are all
around us, and God's excluded; all but the strip of blue sky that
looks down between the tall houses, and suggests thoughts of heaven to
those who work and weep; all but the stunted trees and the green grass
that struggle to grow in the hard streets and squares, and whisper of
the far-off scenes of the country, where life is natural and simple.
But even in town a walk to church is pleasant, especially when the
streets are quiet, before the crowd of worshippers have begun to
assemble, and there is nothing to distract the thoughts. If we can say
of the country walk, "This is holy ground," seeing that every bush and
tree are aflame with God, we can say of the walk through the city,
"Surely the Lord hath been here, this is a dreadful place." And as the
rude rough stones lying on the mountain top shaped themselves in the
patriarch's dream into a staircase leading up to God, so the streets
and houses around become to the musing spirit suggestive of the
Father's many mansions, and the glories of the City whose streets are
of pure gold, in which man's hopes and aspirations after a city of
rest, which are baffled here, will be realised. I have many pleasing
associations connected with walks to church in town. Many precious
thoughts have come to me then, which would not have occurred at other
times; glimpses of the wonder of life, and revelations of inscrutable
mysteries covered by the dream-woven tissue of this visible world. The
subjects with which my mind was filled found new illustrations in the
most unexpected quarters; and every familiar sight and sound furnished
the most appropriate examples. During that half-hour of meditation,