# God Manifest/Part 1/Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.
GOD MANIFEST IN HIS WORKS: THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE.
The Atheist said, "If there be a God, why is it not written on the sun, in great characters that all can read,—There is a God?" It is written on the sun, and on the earth, and on every leaf. In what language would he have it written?—In English? Then the Frenchman could not understand it. In German? Then the Italian could not comprehend it. It is written now in nature's own tongue, which every one who is right-minded may read and understand.
Let us walk forth and view the works of creation, and listen to the language they utter. It is the moming-hour—a bright spring morning. The new-risen sun throws his beams aslant upon the landscape,—thus, in a manner, doubling the objects it falls upon, by drawing their forms in outline on the ground, and at the same time enhancing their beauty by the contrast of light and shade. The freshened face of nature smiles in the new light. The grass, bushes, trees, are all hung with glistening dew-drops. The new-born buds swell to bursting, and send forth a delicious fragrance. The soft south wind breathes over all, and the blue heaven above answers in serenity to the peaceful earth beneath. All this is but inanimate nature; yet has it not a voice? Is there not a language of looks, as well as of words? And is there not an ​expression here in nature's face, answering to the smile of a friend, or to the rosy cheeks and laughing eyes of childhood, telling of health and joy? And though inanimate nature cannot properly be said to rejoice, because it is an unconscious being, yet its look tells plainly of the joy and love of One who is conscious—even its good Creator, who images Himself in His works.
Does not the work tell the character of the workman? When you examine a machine or any piece of workmanship, do you not draw from the object before you an idea of the mind that constructed it? If skilfully executed, does it not prove to you skill in its maker? If elegantly finished, does it not convince you that he has a love of elegance? And if a work of direct utility, does not its construction evince a perception of use in the thought of its constructor, with the desire of producing something of service to mankind? Does the machine need to open its mouth, and utter these things in audible sounds? Are not its look and movement sufficient? Just so, does inanimate nature, as a vast and beautiful machine, reveal the mind of its Maker; so, do all its parts, though silent, yet speak loudly to the attentive observer: to use the poet's words,—
""In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice."
But hark! all is not silent: all is not inanimate. From amongst those trees, sweet sounds proceed—warblings, melodious notes. They are tones of peace and pleasure, and bring cheerfulness to men's minds; for they tell of joy and innocence. And now the little songsters themselves are visible, hopping from spray to ​spray, as hardly able to be still, in their fulness of delight. There, from the meadow's bosom, the morning lark is seen to rise, pouring forth a stream of melody, as he mounts, by short quick flights, into the sky. Higher and higher he soars, singing as he goes, in the joy of his little heart, seeming to make still softer and sweeter music the higher he ascends. And now he is no longer visible, but his song is still heard, as if truly it were music from the happy heavens.
And what, now, is the impression made upon our hearts? In these sweet notes and movements of the pretty birds, is there not the expression of innocence and joy? And does not the thought at once occur, who made these innocents? who gave them power to sing so? who taught them these strains? Does not the construction of those fine instruments, their little throats, prove exquisite skill—skill, beyond the art of man? But if the formation of the instrument shews wisdom and power in their Creator, so the life which fills that instrument,—the joyful nature of which gives, all the sweetness to their song,—displays, in a still more striking manner, His love and goodness.
The bleating of the sportive lambs, and the affectionate answer of the mother, calling them to her side—these sounds are also heard in the distant fields, and they tell the same tale, bespeaking the wisdom and goodness of the Creator. But here the latter quality, goodness, seems to be more directly and manifestly expressed. The notes of the birds told of their joy, and, from the perception of this, we argued love in the mind of their Creator; for love alone delights to infuse into others a state of joy, and to see them happy. So, moreover, from the beauty of the flowers, and the ​bright, life-like look of the bursting blossoms, we could not but draw a somewhat similar idea; for these seemed the nearest to joy that an inanimate thing could express, and they were also the means of giving joy to our minds. But here,—in the tones of affection expressed between the little lamb and its mother, we are one step nearer the fountain-head; here is not merely a manifestation of love in the Maker evinced by the joy of the thing made, but here is love itself, manifest affection,—uttered, indeed, but in an inarticulate bleat, yet expressed as distinctly as in a mother's lullaby.
But look! yonder comes the sturdy ploughman to his labors. He harnesses his horses to the plough, where it stands in the furrow; and now he moves onward, turning up the bosom of the soil to the fresh air, preparing it to receive the seed. Now consider this wonder; for, common as it has become to our sight, it is not the less in itself a wonder. Consider how the millions that people this earth, are nourished. Into the ground thus opened, seed is scattered, and covered over again—buried allve, as it were. But, by and by, it "springs and groweth up, we know not how." A living power, seemingly, moving within the seed, causes it to burst and send a root downward and a shoot upward. The little blade becomes a strong stalk, and, growing taller and taller, crowns itself at length with a head, containing tens and hundreds of seeds precisely similar to the solitary one that was sown in the ground—so many children, as it were, of this little parent. What a wonderful process and result, (when we stop to consider it)! altogether beyond the reach of our knowledge, and understood only by Him who contrived it! ​And thus is man supplied with the food which sustams his body, so that his mind may be free to go on and accomplish its great purposes and work out its eternal destinies. Is there not visible, here, the Hand of Infinite Goodness and Power, secretly working to provide for man his daily bread? Has the plant itself any skill? Has the dull earth any benevolent purpose, that such wonderful and useful effects are produced? Are not these plainly but the instruments of a great Mind and Heart—of a good and wise Being, working unseen for our benefit?
But now, if we seek for evidences, more particularly, of the Creator's skill and wisdom, we must descend into a minuter examination of the objects before us. For the love and goodness of the Creator are visible everywhere in works and effects: for love shews itself chiefly in effects, because there its end is accomplished, and in the result the benevolent purpose images itself and becomes visible. But wisdom is to be detected rather by studying the means by which the effects are produced,—by examining the structure and composition of things; for wisdom deals chiefly with means, wisdom being the servant of love, and the instrument by which it accomplishes its benevolent ends.
Pluck, then, this flower before you. Examine its form and appearance. What beautiful colours! what delicate tints! what fine shading of one into another! How gracefully and with what curved "lines of beauty," its petals open themselves to the morning sun! Would you not think they had been formed and painted by angeb' hands? Truly "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Now draw forth your microscope and examine its structure. Trace the ​delicate fibres; observe the regular formation of the vessels; note the little mouths at the root by which the plant sucks nutriment from its mother earth. Is not this beautiful? Is there not wondrous skill and wisdom here exhibited—and combined, too, with a soft and loving spirit? For observe, this is no hard, dry machine, made merely for dusty use. It is for ornament: there is plainly a design to give pleasure, here. Else, why be at the pains of so much grace and decoration? If it were placed here only for cattle's food, or even if intended but for fragrance and to perfume the air, why adorn it so elaborately, and paint it with such exquisite colours? It is here set manifestly by a benevolent Being, to delight our eyes with its beauty, as well as our sense of smell by its perfume. In this little object we behold a work both of wisdom and love.
And look over the field: it is covered with them: they are almost infinite in number and variety, giving an idea of the infinity of Him who made them. But if you wish a still more striking image of infinity, pluck a handful of these blades of grass, and examine them. See the pretty stripes with which they are adorned, some wide, some narrow, and of different shades. Now place these blades of grass side by side, and note carefully the arrangement of the stripes. You observe that in no two blades is that arrangement the same; there is perpetual variety; and you may examine the whole field before you, spending months in the labour, and, among the millions here, you will find no two blades alike. Is there not here a picture of infinity?
Throw now again a glance over the general landscape, before we retire. Observe all these objects,—the ​grasses, the flowers, the trees covered with blossoms giving promise of the future fruit, the singing-biids, the cattle, the green hill-sides; and then, as you inhale the fragrant air, and look up into the soft blue sky, and at the golden eastern sun that lights the whole,—what do you feel?—what do you say? Must it not be a most kind and bountiful and benevolent Being, who has provided all these things to serve and delight us? and as wise and powerful as He is bountiful, to effect it so admirably, so skilfully, so charmingly? Shall we not return, then, from our morning walk, with a more distinct and rational appreciation of the wisdom and goodness of the Creator?
And as we walk homeward, we shall have an opportunity of observing and reflecting upon the most wonderful object, perhaps, of all that stood upon that ground—namely, ourselves, our own wondrous frame and structure. As you step on, mark how many things co-operate in the simple movement of walking! Note the alternate bending and straightening of the joints, and of so many joints, in every step you take. And what in fact is a joint in the human framework? Take a book of anatomy, and learn its wonderful formation, and the admirable means provided for its lubrication and consequent ease of movement. Then consider the variety of muscles that are called into action at eveiy slightest motion. You cannot turn round to look at a charming prospect, or stoop to pluck a pretty flower, without bringing into play a hundred different musdes. Then consider the delicate system of nerves, by and through which, the spirit communicates its will to the strong muscles, and bids them act; by which, too, it receives and returns the friendly grasp ​and warm pressure of the hand. Ah! here are mysteries and depths of skill, beyond the power of human science to fathom or unfold. Then note the blood-vessels, those little rills, pervading every part of this inner landscape which God looks upon, and carrying nourishment and freshness everywhere, and sustaining the whole; those channels, some large and swelling, some finer than a hair, through which the red blood courses on its errands, whether to sustain the foot in its step, the arm in its stroke, or to mantle with soft blushes the cheek of beauty, and tell, without words, the eloquent tale of love.
Examine, next, the remarkable structure of the ear,—the tympanum and its delicate membrane, the little chain of bones connecting the outer with the inner ear, the hammer and anvil, and the little stirrup, whereby the posting sound mounts, as it were, the ready nerve, to carry its message. When conversing with a friend, or listening to a discourse, or rapt with the sweet strains of music, how seldom do we reflect on the curious and wonderful apparatus, with which our All-wise Creator has furnished us, as the means of such enjoyment!
Look, again, at the eye,—with its transparent coats and humors, and its retina on which are pictured with wonderful rapidity and exactness the objects and scenes that pass before it,—varying in size from a needle's point to a wide landscape, and changing, in character, from the familiar face of a friend, wreathed with smiles, to an armed host of hostile myriads drawn up in battle array. How wonderful, too, the structure of the pupil, the inlet for these pictures, with its iris or coloured circle of muscles, by means of which the opening is enlarged or diminished at pleasure, contracting under the ​too bright rays of the sun, and expanding to take in the soft beams of the moon! Then, too, the eye-lid, with its graceful fringe, to shut up and cover the whole, in the sweet sleep of night!
Consider the tongue, too,—that little instrument, which, small as it is, is able to sway a multitude hither and thither, on its point, as it were, and move the world in speech; and then again, with its faculty of taste, nicely distinguishing between simples, and analyzing compounds;—for the sound-minded, choosing good food and rejecting bad,—and for the epicure, with a cultivated and perverted delicacy of discernment, informing him with infallible certainty, whether the wines he is tasting grew in France or Germany, on the Upper or Lower Rhine, on the north side of a hill, or on the south. So ably and skilfully does this little organ perform its double office.
But to go into particulars were endless. Every organ of the body is so admirably constructed and contrived, that, to the observant and intelligent mind, a degree of wisdom and skill, not less than Infinite and Divine, is every where apparent in its formation; so that, regarding man merely as to his material part, which is yet but the instrument and clothing of the real man, the immortal spirit,—we are constantly moved to exclaim, in the language of the Psalmist, "I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."
And now, our walk is ended, and we have reached home. Let us go into the library, and from this, as from a centre, survey the world. On the wings of these books, we can fly to the corners of the earth,— ​penetrate the crust of the globe, and move through the ground faster than a mole or the Ghost in "Hamlet,"—dive into the ocean and explore its depths—or, like the fairy, "put a girdle round the earth in forty nunutes;" and when we have measured and weighed this orb, we can mount to the stars, and range the universe. Here, geography, geology, botany, zoölogy, astronomy, may bring forth to us their treasures, and enable us, in this small room, to traverse the world.
And what will these sciences show us? what lesson will they teach? They will speak to us of the great Creator, and proclaim His power and goodness, not by empty words, but by setting forth His deeds.
Geography will picture to us the surface of the globe on which we dwell—its oceans, continents, rivers, mountains, isles. And let us now stand off from it, as it were, and survey it at a distance, or hang over it as if in a balloon; and while thus freed for the moment from the power of its attraction, let us rest and behold this beautifrd orb revolving in the bright light of the sun. How swift it turns! A thousand miles, and more, of land and water glide by, each hour, beneath us. Beautifrd sight! Observe the colours, too: it is a painted globe—yes! painted by the great Artist. Note the deep blue of the ocean, the green of the land, the brown bare rocks and mountain-peaks,—and there, at the pole, the white winding-sheet in which dead Nature lies enwrapped.
And now let us look more closely. Here, first, we note the British Isle. It is a little spot, and we must look quick, or it will be gone from us. But though with a small body, it has long arms, reaching in fact quite round the world; as we turn, we shall ​scarcely lose sight of them at all; some portion of its living power and motion will be always visible, though the body itself be long gone from view. A great work, truly, and influence over this globe has Providence assigned to that little centre; may her part be faithfully performed, and for the world's good and happiness, as well as to her own glory! And note, now, the position of this nation; and mark the Divine wisdom and fore-sight, even in the arrangement and form of the various portions of land that constitute the earth's surface, and by what simple means the most remarkable and extensive effects are produced. Had the place occupied by this people been any other than an island, and that a comparatively small one, their influence on the world and its destinies would not, in all probability, have been at all such as it has already been, and promises to be in the future. Situated on an island, they have been obliged, for self-support and self-protection, to become a maritime nation; and their ships, thus sent forth first from necessity, went further and farther, till they explored the world, and took possession of new lands in distant parts. Then, in consequence of the narrowness of territory at home, a stream of emigrants has gone forth to people those new countries and found great nations; so that, in the long future, the whole world and all humanity will feel strongly the influence of the Anglo-Saxon race, their language and their laws.
And now that British Isle, and the Emerald one, too, have rolled away from beneath us, and we hang over the blue ocean, this wide waste of waters, stretching away and away beyond sight, on all sides. This vast, and, till within a few centuries, impassible wilderness of waves, has not been spread out here by the great ​Creator without a purpose. It was set as the great barrier to hem in the nations, and check their western march, till the due time should come. It is the great giant (so to figure it) who, with his comrade on the other side, the Pacific—guarded for ages the new world, the vast western continent, and kept it secure, the dwelling-place only of Nature herself, and the wild denizens of the forest,—until the time had arrived when the interests of humanity stood in urgent need of it; and when the human race, having fought through the battles, and struggled through the mists, of dark and barbarous ages, began to emerge into light and civilization. Then, under the leadings of Providence, a way was opened through this barrier, and across this waste, to a new, fresh, virgin world, which—never tainted with the darkness and crimes of human bigotry, superstition, or tyranny—had lain basking in its warm sun, or sleeping under the soft rays of its bright moon (which, with the silent stars, alone had seen it)—waiting, waiting, through the lapse of ages, till man should become worthy to occupy and enjoy it:—so that, in the records of the world, it might be told and remembered, that there is one land, one portion of the earth's surface, which had never been other than a land of liberty and light.
Such, then, have been the uses of this great Ocean; its existence has mightily influenced the destinies of the world. And here do we not behold another striking proof of the Divine wisdom, evinced in the very structure of the surface of the globe?
And now the sea is passed, and we have reached the New World. Look down upon it! Is it not a fair land—a vast and beautiful continent. Behold its chain ​of great Lakes, inland seas of fresh water, of which man can drink while he sails over them—a pleasant thought—so that none shall ever die of thirst, while far from land on these waters. See its two great mountain ranges, with that wide and rich valley of the Mississippi, reposing between them, destined hereafter to be the happy abode of millions. Its sunny clime, too, and clear skies, and soft southern breezes! And now, as it rolls away, we have reached its western verge. Here is California, the true El Dorado, the Golden Land. Here, in the farthest comer of the globe, the last to be reached by man in his westward progress, has the Creator heaped up his richest treasures, ages ago deposited, and lying ready for man's use when the fit time should come. And does not the time of the revealing of these earthly riches seem intended, in the workings of Divine Providence, to accord in a manner with that of the increase of mental and spiritual wealth, now taking place in the world,—when light and knowledge are becoming spread far and wide, and through all classes, in a degree never before known? when men's minds are fast opening to the perception and reception of pure spiritual truth,—and, still better, when their hearts seem to be softening and warming towards each other, and thoughts and feelings of harmony, union, and brotherly affection to be kindling and spreading from man to man and nation to nation, giving a prediction and a foretaste of the reign of universal peace—a new Golden Age?
The wide Pacific now stretches beneath us,—away, away, till it touches the Eastern World, covering with its vast sheet of waters nearly one half of the earth's circumference, and separating the Western continent ​from the Old World by a much wider gulf than on the Atlantic side, as if to represent the greater difference in race and character between its inhabitants and the Asiatic tribes,—and as if, also, to mark the great boundary of the world's territory, and to show that here the circle of the habitable earth is complete. Yet, beneath this vast expanse of waters, new continents are preparing, for occupation in future ages. Myriads and millions of little builders are busily at work beneath the waters, rearing their coral piles, the pillars of a new Pacific world. Deep are the foundations laid, and slow does the structure rise, but it is ever progressing, and, by and by, its head appears above the waters,—an island: many such heads appear,—a cluster of islands; and groups are gradually compacting into continents, the dwelling places of nations yet unborn. Thus is the great Creator still and ever creating, preparing abodes for more human and immortal beings,—dwelling-places below, where they may fit themsdves for the eternal mansions above.
And now, as the globe rolls round, the Eastern World comes into sight—Asia, the most ancient abode of men. Here, first, was the human race planted, and here, consequently, is the multitude of human beings greatest. China, India, Persia, Jerusalem and the Holy Land, succeed each other, peopled by five hundred millions of human souls. Crowded together thickly as bees in a hive, the hum of busy industry is heard, as each and all move round in their respective courses of action, carrying on the great business of life. Here are births, marriages, deaths, innumerable. Here the midnight tear is shed, there beams the smile of happy love, on this side rings the laugh of merry boyhood, ​and yonder totters the aged man towards his grave. All are working out their destiny,—a joyful and blessed one, if they will; for, as the good Creator has planted the olive and the vine, and carpeted the earth, and laid out a wide garden for men, His creatures, here below, so has He prepared paradises still more firuitfiil and beautiful in the regions above, for all who love His presence, and are willing to come and rejoice in His smile.
Europe, again, now emerges to view, the region of light, of science, of civilization; small in extent, but great in knowledge, and therefore in power. Hence, as from a kind of sun or central light, the rays of truth beam forth, and illumine more or less brightly the farthest corners of the earth.
Thus have we surveyed with rapid glance the general surface of this globe, as the science of geography pictures it to us. In the very conformation and arrangement of its parts, we may see a far-seeing and fore-seeing wisdom, effecting the grandest results by the most simple means. We may see, that by no mere chance have the portions of land and water been distributed as we find them, but that in this particular arrangement great ends were had in view, which have already in part been accomplished, and are yet to be more fully effected in the long lapse of ages.
Another science now calls our attention, opening to us still grander views of the Divine workings,—geology—that science, which penetrating beneath the surface, examines the very structure and constitution of this globe. But a little way, indeed, has it penetrated or can it penetrate into the great mass. Here is a body ​of matter no less than eight thousand miles in thickness. What may be doing there in the centre, four thousand miles beneath our feet, He only knows, whose eye penetrates all substances, and to whom the "darkness is as the light." If fiery oceans there roll, and boiling surges burst, He sees and can curb them, who of old calmed the watery billows, and bade the sea "be still." There, indeed, we know, are tremendous forces working, utterly beyond man's control or understanding. We know them only in their effects. When the great earth quakes and gapes, engulfing whole cities with their people,—when the volcano pours forth its fiery flood, deluging and destroying vast tracts, and burying towns beneath its burning waves, then does man feel his weakness, and confesses that there are powers which only a Hand, infinitely stronger than his own, can master and control.
Yet Geology, though it cannot indeed penetrate to the earth's very foundations, has, nevertheless, from the depths to which it has reached, brought up vast treasures of information. It shews us that the earth's crust, on which we walk and dwell, is constructed on a regular plan; that the great rocks, which are the ribs of its frame, are laid in a certain order, and that an unvarying one. The hand of the Master-Mason is seen to have been, here at work,—silently and steadily, through age after age, preparing this globe for the habitation of man. Geology, too, combined with Mineralogy, tells us what that Hand has been doing both for our comfort and adornment. See the vast stores of fuel, which that good Being, our Preserver equally as our Creator, has been laying up for us before we or our fathers came into existence,—those ​immense coal-fields, that extend through the earth for hundreds, nay, thousands of miles;—and consider if here are not manifested, with proof irresistible, the marks of Divine wisdom and goodness. But this most useful mineral is not the sole treasure that has been stored up in the earth for our benefit. There are the mines of iron and other common metals, everywhere existing in abundance, so necessary for the daily purposes of life that they may with the greater justice be termed the '* precious metals." But, as if to add beauty to utility, and thus complete the circle of enjoyment, the glittering silver and the yellow gold have been placed there, too; and with them, have been set the ruby, the emerald, the sparkling diamond, the agate and the amethyst, and the whole coronet of brilliants, as if to crown finished Nature as a Queen, and to set forth in resplendent forms the might and benignity of her Creator.
But while such treasures are thus stored up in the earth's bosom, how beautiful, at the same time, the garment in which she is outwardly arrayed,—her "robe of living green," decked with flowers, and tasselled with golden fruits. Botany here takes us by the hand, and leads us through a wide field of beauty, where colors in all richness and variety, and forms in every mode of elegance meet the eye; while all delicious fragrances are poured forth to charm the scent, and sweetest juices offer themselves to the taste. From the humble daisy to the splendid dahlia, from the modest lily of our own fields to the curious and gorgeous fiowers of the tropics,—we may range through unending varieties of shape, scent, and colour, till we wonder at the exhaustless riches of nature, and begin to perceive and to feel that, ​in truth, nought but infinite skill, prompted by infinite goodness and love, could have produced such a world of beauty.
But if such are the charms of inanimate nature, let us look, now, at the world of living, breathing creatures,—possessing one excellence, far surpassing all that have been yet described,—that of life and consciousness. Though the earth were filled with treasures, and its surface covered with things beautiful, in the mineral and vegetable kingdoms, yet would these be all in vain, were there not conscious beings to possess this wealth and enjoy these charms. The inanimate being is created but to be the instrument and servant of the animate; as the inferior orders of the latter, in their turn, are made for the use and service of their superior, man, who is the chef d'œuvre of the Almighty, and the grand end to which all other created things are intended but as means. Of man, however, particularly in reference to his chief distinguishing characteristic, the immortal mind, we shall speak in another place; it is the inferior animate creation, to which we would refer just now.
Paley has given us a pleasing picture of a swarm of little insects sporting together over a pool, and showing plainly by their lively movements the delight of their little hearts (for hearts they have) as they course round and round, or dart from side to side, within the compass of their small world, and for the brief period of their ephemeral existence. Yes! even here, is the goodness, as well as the power, of the Divine Creator visible. So, the pretty butterfly sporting in the sunbeams, and winging its way from flower to flower, is an image of the innocent joy and love that fill the mind ​of its Maker. And the sight of it should teach, as doubtless it was meant to teach, sad and anxious men a moral lesson, namely, to put away consuming cares, with the selfish and evil passions that produce them, and live a life of innocence, trusting in their Heavenly Father's care and love, and rejoicing in His smile, and they, too, would be happy the livelong day. Or, a still higher lesson may we learn; that as this bright-winged thing was but lately a dull, creeping worm, so a change analogous to this is awaiting us, when, putting off this chrysalis state of material existence, we shall soar into loftier and purer regions, and sport for ever in the sunshine of heaven.
What myriads of living creatures roam the wilds of Africa, America, and other yet unsettled portions of the earth, added to the vast numbers, which, tamed and domesticated, have been subjected to the service of man! From the condor, king of the feathered race, which sweeps majestically from peak to peak of the Andes, sole inhabitant of those trackless solitudes, or the bald eagle of North America, which, perched on some beetling crag, or soaring near the sun, looks proudly down on the world below,—to the pretty humming bird that flits from blossom to blossom, "itself a fairer flower," in the gardens of the Ohio;—between these extremes, what myriads of gay creatures rove the air, filling it with melody! And when the evening shades draw on, and while
"The moping owl doth to the moon complain,"
the nightingale pours forth her song, to entertain the listening groves, or soothe the rest of sleeping Nature; or, (in the Western World,) the plaintive note of the whip-poor-will is heard, poured forth the livelong ​night; or, again, the skilful mocking-bird, delighted with her own power, is heard by the late traveller, amusing herself with imitations of all the other birds of the forest, now wrapped in their quiet slumbers. Thus night and day have each their charms: sleeping or waking, Nature is still ever beautiful, and breathing forth soft hannonies. And, to the open mind, are not all these things manifest proofs of the goodness as well as power of that ever watchful Being, who made the world and sustains it, whose Eye never slumbers nor sleeps,—who in the night's silence hears the nestling's feeble cry from the depths of the forest, and causes its little want to be supplied,—as well as keeps in man's nostrils the breath of life, and enables the heart still to beat, and the lungs to rise and fall in regular movement, through the hours of darkness and of man's unconscious and helpless slumbers?
But let us turn now, for a moment, to look at those faithful servants of man, the domestic animals, and consider how wisely and wonderfully they are constituted for the uses they have to perform. That noble animal, the horse, for instance, so indispensable to man's convenience and comfort;—how admirably is his degree of understanding (if such it may be called) calculated to fit him for his work. Had he any more or any less intelligence, he would be incapable of filling the useful place he now does, in the service of man. Had he more, he would not be the obedient instrument of man's will and word; for in that case he would have thoughts of his own, and consequently an opinion and will of his own; and he would wish to know why he was driven hither and thither, through storms, and over muddy roads, and to battle. On the other hand, ​had he any less intelligence, he would be incapable of so serving man, from want of comprehension of the directions given him by the voice or the bridle. Now, though blindly obedient to his master's will, and ready to go or stand still at his command, at the same time he is able not only to comprehend those commands, but also in a manner to enter into the spirit of them, and join in the chase or the race, or even rush into the thick of battle, with a seeming zest and delight. So, in the East, the docile elephant, with his quick intelligence—how interesting to see this enormous animal putting forth his vast strength, in obedience to man's will, with such gentle submissiveness! And the patient camel, "the ship of the desert," the very image of meek usefulness and fidelity—how admirably is he suited, in his whole structure, to the peculiar region of the earth in which he dwells and toils! In these and all similar instances, most plainly visible are the marks of the Creator's wisdom and goodness!
But now, if we desire curious proofs of the wondrous skill of the great Architect, let us glance into the microscopic world. What wonders does the microscope reveal—what hidden beauties, unknown existences, marvellous contrivances and forms! "Seen under the powers of the microscope," says an eloquent writer, "every atom is a world, every leaf is a colony of insects, every drop of water a universe of being. Is it true, that there are in the animal creation little creatures a thousand times less than a single grain of sand, with organs of nutrition, secretion, respiration, and motion? Is it true that there are shell-fish so small, that under a powerful microscope they appear no larger than a grain of barley? Is it true that it ​would take six thousand fibres of the spider's web ta make up the thickness of a common thread of sewing silk? Is it true that a human blood-cell does not measure more than one four-thousandth part of an inch in thickness, and yet by such cells the whole structure of the body is built up and its daily waste repaired? These are but a few of the manifold wonders with which nature abounds, and which proclaim the wisdom; and goodness of the Creator." The minuteness of animalcules is indeed inconceivable. Leuwenhoek calculates that the size of some of them compared with a cheese-mite, is as the size of a bee to that of a horse: a hundred others will not exceed the thickness of a single hair. But examine some of the larger insects, and witness the exquisite delicacy and beauty of their structure. With a microscope of the power of 600, lately perfected by Hasert, a German,—the dust, which by contact with the wings of the butterfly adheres to the fingers, was shewn to be a number of feathers; on those little feathers were observed longitudinal and transverse lines; and between each pair of longitudinal and transverse lines there were five or six rows of scales, like those of a fish. A dust particle taken from the back of the body of a sphinx, measuring one fifteenth of an inch in length, and one two-hundredth in breadth, had 104 of those longitudinal lines; between each pair of lines six rows of scales were visible, making the number of scales 624; the number longitudinally downwards would be 2,328: consequently the whole number of scales on this little feather would amount to 1,400,000, or fourteen hundred millions to a square inch. What a picture is here presented of the infinity of the Creator,—His power and skill equally ​shown in the minutest as in the vastest works;—the same Divine Hand now polishing the scales on the feathers of a moth's wing, and now holding in its hollow the waters of the ocean, or guiding the mazes of innumerable worlds!
And now, at length and in the last place, it is time to turn our contemplations from this single globe on which we dwell, to the great universe around us—from objects indefinitely minute to those indefinitely vast,—from the wonders of the microscopic, to those of the telescopic, creation. And if, before, we found difficulty in contracting our thoughts to the inconceivable minuteness of the one class of objects, we shall find it, perhaps, yet more difficult to expand our conceptions so as to grasp the immensities of the other. But though a difficult, it cannot but prove an agreeable task, if we have any love for the beautiful and the sublime.
And, first, let us contemplate our own solar system. Look at its exquisite machinery, if such it may be termed. Let us suppose ourselves able to stand off from it, and survey it at a distance. What a beautiful sight would it be! Behold that vast ball, glittering and flaming in the centre,—the sun. And how vast is that globe of fire! To form a conception of its immensity, let us consider it in this manner. The distance from the earth to the Moon is 240,000 miles; now suppose the centre of the sun were placed where our earth is,—this vast globe of fire would reach as far as the moon, and nearly as far again beyond it, and this, too, on all sides from the centre; so that you would have here a burning mass measuring across from edge ​to edge nearly fout times the whole distance from the earth to the moon. Thus, in fact, the moon makes its revolutions round the earth within a space, scarcely more than half the size of the body of the sun. What a Power must that be, which watches and feeds such a fire!
Such is the central orb which gives light and warmth to our system. Look, now, at the series of globes that circle round it, ranged one beyond another,—the farthest, Neptune, at the enormous distance of three thousand millions of miles,—all glittering with light borrowed from that central orb. And how swiftly, though silently, those orbs are moving. Look at our own earth,— the third in order,—sweeping on at the enormous rate of sixty-eight thousand miles an hour, or more than a thousand miles every minute (now, while I write these words, we have travelled through space a thousand miles). Trying to conceive of it, and finding our powerlessness, we begin to understand the grandeur of the works of the Almighty.
Observe, next, that several of these globes have other little globes, moons, revolving round them, as they themselves revolve round the sun, and all shining as they move. How beautiful a system! what exquisite harmony and order, and yet on so vast a scale! ​Consider, too, that each of these revolving orbs is a world—a world, filled with inhabitants, countless millions of intelligent beings, with active bodies and more active souls, each occupying his own sphere of use and duty, each having his own thoughts, feelings, pursuits, cares, pleasures,—and each an immortal being, destined to exist through the millions of ages of eternity. What a plan! What a sublime conception and creation! What magnificent means and ends! What must be the vastness and loftiness and goodness of that Mind, which could conceive and execute this stupenduous work: which has brought into existence, and holds in existence,—which created and sustains,—all this complicated machinery of worlds, and which at the same time rules and guides by Its wisdom the affairs of the inhabitants of each and all of them, even to the minutest concern of the humblest individual! For this must be so: He who creates must also sustain and guide, or creation would be in vain; and guidance in general cannot exist without guidance in particulars, even to the smallest particular—for the greatest things are often dependent and consequent upon the least: thus, the Creator must also be the Preserver. What, then, must be the power of that Mind, which sees, understands, and guides all the affairs of all the hosts of millions of human beings, that inhabit the various worlds in our solar system!
But this is only the beginning. Our solar system is but one of myriads, nay, of millions of systems, existing in the universe. Walk out on a clear evening, and look up at the heavens, spangled with countless points of light. Observe, especially, the Milky Way, white with star-dust (as it has been aptly termed,) ​stretching across the glittering sky. Each one of those little shining points is a great Sun, like our own Sun, giving light and warmth, doubtless, to numerous unseen worlds revolving round it; each, the centre of a solar system, filled with myriads of millions of inhabitants, human beings like ourselves, with thoughts, and feelings, and hopes, and joys,—husbands, wives, children, old grey-haired grandsires just stepping into their graves, and little nurslings but newly born into existence. And all these the great and good Creator is sustaining in life, and leading through life, and on to a yet higher and happier eternal life in heaven.
Try, now, to estimate the vastness of this universe; What, think you, is the distance of those stars? We must take for our instrument of measure, the speed of light:—nothing else will suffice, to give a conception of that distance. Light travels at the rate of 192,000 miles in one second of time, or nearly twelve millions of miles a minute. It occupies, consequently, about eight minutes and a half in coming from the sun to our earth, and about four hours in arriving at the farthest verge of our system, the planet Neptune. But how long does it take for light to come from one of those evening stars to us,—travelling at this enormous rate of 12,000,000 of miles a minute? It requires no less than ten years. So that the ray of light which falls upon our eyes as we look up, is ten years old; it set out from that star on its great journey across the abyss, not less than that number of years ago, and has just come in, as we lift our eyes. What a reflection is this!
​But still further:—as the view of our solar system was but a beginning, so this is but a second step into the immensity of space. We have spoken only of the nearest of the stars. Beyond this universe of glittering orbs that appear to our eyes, there is another,—to the naked eye quite invisible; and beyond that another, and yet another, seemingly without end. Herschel, with his great telescope, sounded the depths of the heavens; and, after careful observations and calculations, came to the conclusion, that in some parts of the Milky Way, there were not less than five hundred stars in a right line, one beyond another, and as far distant from each other. as the nearest star is from the earth; so that light, in (grossing this vast interval, would occupy not less than five thousand years. But as the power of the telescope was increased, more and more distant stars and clusters of stars came into view; so that in all probability there are some whose light would not reach our earth in less than hundreds of thousands or even millions of years; and there may be some whose light has not yet reached us, whose first created ray has not yet entered our sphere,—not yet arrived to shed its little evening light upon this earth. "When I consider," says the Psalmist, "thy heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon and stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou visitest him?" Truly, our finite minds are lost, in the effort to comprehend the vastness and the grandeur of the Creator's works. We can only exclaim—wonderful! sublime! Divine!
And is it possible, that in the face of all these grand facts and truths, there can be found a mind so dull, so dark, so insane, as to cry out, "No God! there is no ​God." Shall we attempt to reason with such a mind? does it deserve an answer?—What is a God? By the existence of a God, we mean the existence of a great Mind, indefinitely or infinitely superior to man's in wisdom and consequently in power, and, it may be added, also, in goodness. Now, even in the hasty and cursory view that has here been taken of the works of the material universe, have we not seen a thousand proofs of the existence and workings of such a Mind? Can any thinking man have a doubt upon this point? Why, the very savage, as he roams the wilderness, perceives and acknowledges the presence of the Great Spirit, both without and within him. He hears Him in the thunder, and in the whisperings of the forest-leaves; he sees Him in the rising sun and moon, and in the twinkling stars; he has a consciousness of His presence and over-ruling providence, whether treading the solitary wood-path, or sitting alone in his wigwam. That consciousness flows into his mind from heaven, and affects him; because, in his simplicity and ignorance, he has not, by any false reasonings, darkened and closed his mind against it. So, the little child, as he bows down at his mother's knee, in his evening prayer,—or when, holding by his father's hand, he walks out in the morning into the garden, and sees the newly wakened flowers lifting their sweet faces sparkling with the fresh dew-drops,—has an undoubting assurance of his Heavenly Father's presence and goodness; and when told that these beautiful things were made by God, finds no difficulty in understanding that truth, abstract as it is in itself, and invisible though that God be. And this is so, because the innocence of the infantile mind is the very abode of angels, who ​communicate that heavenly faith and trust; for we read that "their angels" (speaking of little children) "do always behold the face of our Father in heaven." Nay, more, that childish innocence is the very dwelling-place of the Most High Himself, for He dwells with the humble spirit, and innocence is essential humility, because it is free from all pride of intellect and heart. Thence it is, that the Lord Himself communicates to the childish mind a perception of His presence. It is not till after-years, when, as the intellectual faculties are developed, the pride of reason begins to rise in the heart, and, with consciousness of strength, a feeling of self-dependence begins to be formed, causing the youth to turn away from God to himself, and thus partially to shut the door of his mind against Him,—it is not till then, that even a doubt arises as to the existence and providence of the Divine Being. But this is only a temporary state. If the young man, like a Henry Kirke White, for instance, resisting temptations and seduotions to evil, turns into the path of virtue, purity, and duty, the door of his heart soon opens again, and good influences enter, with God's own presence from above, and, dispersing all the clouds of doubt, let into the mind the warmth and sun-light of a settled faith.
It is only a life of evil and sin, which shuts out from the mind a perception of, and belief in, a God. If a young man, leaving the path of innocence, plunges into a life of dissipation, and continues in it till he becomes sunk in sensuality and grossness; or, if he give himself up to utter worldliness and money-getting and avarice, till his heart becomes hardened to flint; or, yet again, if led by ambition and a selfish thirst for distinction and a name, proud of his own reasoning abilities, he ​suffers himself to depart from the great lights which, let down from heaven, have hitherto guided the world, and following the "will o' wisp" glimmerings of his own imagination, he wanders away and away from the beaten path, till he becomes lost amid the quagmires and morasses of thought, and dark forests of phantasies which shut out the light of heaven:—then it is,—by one or another of these courses,—that the heavenly flame, which warmed and enlightened the childish mind, becomes extinguished. As the heart becomes hardened, the mind is darkened. In proportion as sensuality or worldliness or ambition takes possession of the soul, that innocence of childhood, which was the abode of God and angels, perishes; and then, those heavenly beings having no abiding place with that man, he has no longer a perception of their existence. To him they are not. And then, when he looks with his eyes upon the outer world and the grand appearances and motions of the natural universe,—having no inward key by which to interpret those appearances,—having broken in himself that chain by which earth and heaven are joined,—having extinguished that light of life, by which God is seen present in and pervading His universe,—he beholds only dead matter, he sees nothing within or above the dull clod he treads upon: having destroyed the image of God in his own soul,— that universe, which to the spiritual mind everywhere mirrors its Divine Creator, to him reflects no Form, no Countenance of love; it is dark and dead, because the mind that beholds it, is so. Such is the origin of all confirmed atheism: it springs, not so much from an erring head, as from an evil heart.
* ↑ Professor Olmsted, of Yale College, in his Mechanism of the Heavens, after examining and refuting Herschel's theory of the sun's being an opaque body encompassed with luminous clouds, concludes with the following observation: "I think, therefore, we must confess our ignorance of the nature and constitution of the sun; nor can we, as astronomers, obtain much more satisfactory knowledge respecting it, than the common apprehension, namely, that it is an immense globe of fire." See Chap. X.
* ↑ The famous Pole-Star is still farther off: light from that star is no less than thirty years on its journey to our earth.