Such men build
stone houses, but never a spiritual nest. They cannot believe the
thing possible which yet another man DOES. Nor ever may they
believe it before they begin to do it. I wonder little at so many
rejecting Christianity, while so many would-be champions of it hold
theirs at arm's length--in their bibles, in their theories, in
their church, in their clergyman, in their prayer-books, in the
last devotional page they have read--a separable thing--not in
their hearts on their beds in the stillness; not their comfort in
the night-watches; not the strength of their days, the hope and joy
of their conscious being! God is nearer to me than the air I
breathe, nearer to me than the heart of wife or child, nearer to me
than my own consciousness of myself, nearer to me than the words in
which I speak to him, nearer than the thought roused in me by the
story of his perfect son--or he is no God at all. The unbelievers
might well rejoice in the loss of such a God as many Chris--tians
would make of him. But if he be indeed the Father of our Lord
Christ, of that Jew who lived and died doing the will of his
Father, and nothing but that will, then, to all eternity, "Amen,
thy will be done, O God! and nothing but thy will, in or through
me!"
Cosmo had been ill a whole week--in fever and pain, and was now
helpless almost as an infant. The old man had gone for his wife,
and between them they had persuaded him, though all but
unconscious, to exert himself sufficiently to reach the house.
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