"Return unto your rest, O my soul, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you." It was at the still hour, when the gates of the day were closing, that with weary wing the dove came back to her master: O Lord, enable me this evening thus to return to Jesus. She could not endure to spend a night hovering

over the restless waste, nor can I bear to be even for another hour away from Jesus, the rest of my heart, the home of my spirit. She did not merely alight upon the roof of the ark, she "came into him;" even so would my longing spirit look into the secret of the Lord, pierce to the interior of truth, enter into that which is within the veil, and reach to my Beloved in very deed.

Although no man can have too much religion, there are some who are burnt black with bigoted zeal for their favorite fragment of truth, or are charred to a cinder with the vain-glorious ostentation of those religious performances which suit their humor.

The assumed appearance of superior sanctity frequently accompanies a total absence of vital godliness. The saint in public may be a devil in private, dealing in flour by day and in soot by night.