Children of Mysteries

1917

"The little isle of knowledge," says a recent writer, "shelves off suddenly on every hand into water that is too deep to wade and too wide to swim." When the rim of the earth slips up and shuts out the sun, we say it is sundown; and when in the morning the rim of the earth slips down past the golden plaque in the east, we say it is sun up. Meanwhile we have been flying through darkness and space at a terrific rate, clinging like great beetles to the under side of a world. No fear of falling off.

We are the children of mysteries, the heirs of a life and a world more full of wonder than the crags of the Yosemite, or the great gray mountain spurs that shine the face of God as the face of the Savior shone when he met the commissioners from the throne. How little we know. How little we realize of the wonder of our daily lives.

To him whose eyes are but half awake to the land he lives in, there should be no questioning of the incarnation of Jesus, or the mysteries and miracles of his wonder-working hand. "Truth is a continent in whose interior are forest-covered valleys and towering mountain ranges and broad rivers sweeping through wide plains, but we touch it only as Columbus touched the shores of the new world, coasting a little way along a small segment of its beach." — United Presbyterian.