And yet—He can think of me.
For none can measure the mind of God
Or the bounds of eternity.
He knows each life that has come from Him,
To the tiniest bird and bee;
And the love of His heart is so deep and wide
That takes in even me.
(1257a)
What cares the babe for the blackness and the wild storm if only the mother holds it to her bosom and croons the hymn of peace. And in the hour when the world reels beneath his feet, frail man becomes almost omnipotent in the thought that beneath this world are the everlasting arms. (Text.)—N. D. Hillis.
(1258)