"And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day."
What are the "waters which were above"?
They are those beautiful clouds which seem to float in the ocean of air. I am sure you have often wondered at their pure loveliness, as they sailed over the sky, soft and white against the blue, as the foam upon the sea. It was such clouds as these which two little boys saw once when they were out driving. They were sitting close together in the back seat, and their father heard them talking about the sky.
"Look," said one of the children, "God lives in the blue."
"No, Georgie," said his brother, "He lives in the white."
They were both right, for God is everywhere.
A little child of whom I have heard used to think, because she understood that brightness and glory go together, that the stars were holes in the floor of God's dwelling, to let the glory through. In the book of Job the clouds are spoken of as "the treasure-house of the rain and snow," and as the "bottles of heaven," and these names become full of meaning when we know that the water, which falls from the clouds at every shower, is constantly being drawn up again to fill them once more. This is done by what is called evaporation, and very much of the water which rises to the clouds comes from the sea, along shore, as well as from rivers and lakes. Have you seen a pond dry up in summer? No? Then perhaps you have looked into the ink bottle when all the ink had gone, and only some dry black dust was left in it. What has happened? All the water in the ink has flown away; the heat has turned it into vapour, which is lighter than air, and so it has risen up through the air to form part of those snowy clouds which you love to watch, when the light of the setting sun turns them to crimson and gold. This change of water into vapour is one of the beautiful things which we cannot often see, but which is always going on. The rain from heaven falls upon the thirsty land, making it bring forth and bud, that there may be bread for us, and food for every living thing; and then, when its work is done, all that is not wanted goes back again, and is stored up in the treasure-house of the clouds—nothing is lost.
I remember when we were speaking of this, I asked my children what the earth would be like if all the rain that fell remained upon it. Chrissie was the only one who had an answer ready; he said it would soon be a swamp, and nothing could grow well, and no one could live. We can all understand that if there were no rain to "satisfy the desolate ground," the earth would soon be a parched desert; but it is just as true that, while the rain is such a blessing, if God had not provided for its returning to the clouds, the earth would indeed become a desolate waste of water. I must tell you that little Dick was very much interested about this, and he remembered that he had seen, in a place where the sun was shining, the water going back from the earth to the clouds. "It went up in streaks," he said, "and I saw it quite plainly."
Generally we look up at the clouds, but I remember once looking down and seeing them below me. I had climbed a high mountain, and just when I got to the top it happened that the peak was quite clear, but around it, a little lower down, a wreath of white cloud was floating. Every now and then, through a rift in the cloud, I could see the beautiful valley below, with its smiling fields and winding river, and far away there was the sea, with hundreds of green islands; all this I saw for a moment, as if through a soft thin veil, and then the cloud closed again, and shut out the view. I can quite understand travellers saying how lovely it is when they sail through the air in balloons, to get up into a clear still height, and see the "plains of clouds" below them. But there is one thing which makes voyages in balloons dangerous. The higher people go, the more thin and difficult to breathe the air becomes. One celebrated traveller, when he had got as high as seven miles in his balloon, lost his senses, and his companion was nearly frozen to death by the piercing cold. This traveller tells us that about six or seven miles above the earth no sound can reach the ear to break the perfect stillness and silence. This is because the air at this height is so thin. On the top of Mont Blanc a pistol-shot can scarcely be heard even though it is fired quite close; but if the same pistol were to be fired off in the next field you would hear it, and put your hand to your ears because the report was so loud.
But what makes the report? The pistol was fired into the air, and hit nothing.