its noblest treasures of sacred song. That one of Doddridge's,
beginning with
"Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell!"

made me feel as if I had just been gazing in at some window of
the "many mansions" above:--

"Ye stars are but the shining dust
Of my divine abode-"

Had I not known that, ever since I was a baby? But the light does
not stream down even into a baby s soul with equal brightness all
the time. Earth draws her dark curtains too soon over the
windows of heaven, and the little children fall asleep in her dim
rooms, and forget their visions.

That majestic hymn of Cowper's,--

"God moves in a mysterious way,"

was one of my first and dearest. It reminded me of the rolling of
thunder through the sky; and, understood as little as the thunder
itself, which my mother told me was God's voice, so that I
bent my ear and listened, expecting to hear it shaped into words,
it still did give me an idea of the presence of One Infinite
Being, that thrilled me with reverent awe. And this was one of
the best lessons taught in the Puritan school,--the lesson of
reverence, the certainty that life meant looking up to something,
to Some One greater than ourselves, to a Life far above us, which
yet enfolded ours.