He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth them all by their names.—PS. cxlvii. 3, 4.
Teach me your mood, O patient stars!
Who climb each night the ancient sky,
Leaving on space no shade, no scars,
No trace of age, no fear to die.
R. W. EMERSON.
I looked up to the heavens once more, and the quietness of the stars seemed to reproach me. “We are safe up here,” they seemed to say; “we shine, fearless and confident, for the God who gave the primrose its rough leaves to hide it from the blast of uneven spring, hangs us in the awful hollows of space. We cannot fall out of His safety. Lift up your eyes on high, and behold! Who hath created these things—that bringeth out their host by number? He calleth them all by names. By the greatness of His might, for that He is strong in power, not one faileth. Why sayest thou, O Jacob! and speakest, O Israel! my way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God?”