But why do I not find this rest for this weary heart? Why do I not
find the way to seek for the hidden treasure I so much longed for?
These queries were continually revolving in my mind, without a
satisfactory solution. Sometimes I almost concluded that God was too
good to send the beings he created for his own glory to perdition to
all eternity, and all would ultimately be saved; at other times, I
could not reconcile universal salvation with the parable of Lazarus
and the rich man, and was ready to conclude that salvation was for the
elected few, and there were those who could not be saved, and I was
among the lost. In one of these seasons, of almost despair, I
ventured to attend a Methodist meeting held in a private house, in
company with my uncle. Being at his house, I did not go home for
permission. The minister was a plainly dressed man; the opening hymn
was new to me, but every line seemed especially for me:

"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform"

It was read and sung in an impressive manner. The fourth stanza seemed
specially suited to my case:

"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He bides a smiling face."

This gave new light, new courage, and fresh hope sprang up, like
streaks of the morning sunbeam in the Eastern sky, preluding the full
blaze of the orb of day. The prayer and the text upon which he based
his remarks were all flowing in the same channel. The exhortation was