divine in the world without, in human affections, in noble aspirations,
and in glorious deeds.

Too long have we believed that only the unpleasant, the gloomy, and
repellent could be right or religious. There is a type of conscience
that determines action by the rule that if a thing is pleasant or
beautiful it must be sinful and wrong. To such souls it is a sin to be
sunny in disposition, to delight in the Father's fair world, with its
glowing riches and bounty dropping daily from His hand.

It would be safer to say that sin must be somewhere lurking wherever
there is deformity, pain, or discord--that, as a common phrase has it,
the bleak and barren is the evidence of that which is forsaken of God.
Things desolate are not divine. Religion is not repression but
development into a fullness and beauty far beyond our dreams.

It is a good thing to see the divine in all things fair and lovely; to
take them as evidences that the love that once pronounced this world
good in its primeval glory still is working, still is seeking to enrich
our lives and lead them out in fullness of joy. Why should not we,
like the poets and preachers of ancient Israel, taste again of the
gladness of living.

Character may need for its full development the storms and wintry
blasts of life, but it needs just as truly and just as much the
sunshine, the days when the heart goes out and joins in the song of
nature, when something leaps within us at the gladness of being alive,
and we drink in of the infinite love that is over all.

Just as the sun seems to call the flowers out of the dark earth and