“PEACE, perfect peace!” What music there is in the words! The very mention of them fills the heart with longings which cry out for satisfaction, and will not be comforted. Sometimes, indeed, we may succeed in hushing them for a little, as a mother does a fretful child; but soon they will break out again with bitter and insatiable desire. Our nature sighs for rest, as the ocean shell, when placed to the ear, seems to sigh for the untroubled depths of its native home.
There is peace in those silent depths of space, blue for very distance, which bend with such gentle tenderness over our fevered, troubled lives. There is peace in the repose of the unruffled waters of the mountain lake, sheltered from the winds by the giant cliffs around. There is peace at the heart of the whirlwind which sweeps across the desert waste in whirling fury. The peace of a woodland dell, of a highland glen, of a summer landscape, all touch us, And is there none for us, whose nature is so vast, so composite, so wonderful?
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