His faith was but a tender plant as yet, and it would need much watchfulness and care if it was to grow.
He was brought back from his reflections by the announcement of Cowper's well-known hymn:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
Rufus stood up with the rest and tried to sing, but a lump rose in his throat constantly and threatened to choke him. It seemed as if every line met his case and expressed some experience of his own:
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain:
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
The congregation sang on with deep feeling and emotion. Most of them had known trouble. Many had experienced the joy of deliverance. And the tune was one that seemed exactly to suit the words:
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour.
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
How wonderfully true and apposite it all was! More than once he swept his hand across his eyes to remove the mist that had gathered. Surely God had led him to that little chapel that morning. He knelt with the rest when the benediction was pronounced, and breathed an audible "Amen" at the close.
Marshall Brook walked home with him and remained to dinner and to afternoon tea. But they did not spend the time in discussing knotty theological problems; their talk ran on the strange happenings and experiences of life.