Last night I saw a faint yellow light struggling with feeble timidity against some angry clouds; they gathered against the light as if determined to shut it out; and the pale moon seemed too languid for resistance, but the breeze came to help her; the thickening clouds were broken, and the moon seemed to take heart; brighter and brighter were her mild beams, until at last she stood up in the southern sky, the clouds all gone, like an angel watching from afar the flowers which the sun had just forsaken.
So shall it be with our cloudy life, if we be God’s children, the clouds are not permanent They are but elevated shadows. The true light will pierce them, melt them, scatter them, and we shall stand out distinct as stars, lighter than ever cloud ascended, renewed in lustre by the infinite glory of God.—PARKER.