A Universe Which Carries the
Print of the Creator's Finger by Alexander Smiley from The
Secret Place, 1907 Lord how manifold are your works
in wisdom have you made them all psalm 104 verse 24 Let me
walk through the world so various so beautiful so pleasing with
an open eye to It is strange that there are many who have
no discernment of its wondrousness. They are dwellers in a palace
which has a variety and a magnificence that India's Taj Mahal never
possessed, and they are blind to its marvels. But I would ask
for a purged and illuminated vision. And then your works in
nature will astonish me. Let me walk through the world,
which is the many-colored vesture of the Lord, with a believing
mind. It is both strange and sad that
men should be atheists in a universe which carries the print of the
Creator's finger on each grain of sand, each blade of grass,
each beam of light. They are as senseless as one
who would go through a large factory with its complicated
mechanisms and machinery and would say, I do not believe man
exists. But I would be wiser than they. I would subscribe to William
Law's sentiment. Nature is what it is for this
end only, that the hidden riches, the invisible powers, the blessings,
the glory, the love of the unsearchable God may become visible, sensible,
and manifest in it and by it. This is a saner conclusion than
the atheists. And let me walk through the world
with a joyous soul. No doubt there is much in it
to fill the heart with painfulness, and pessimism has turned to the
strifes and sorrows of creation for proof of its dismal creed.
But the goodness of God is written to in letters of gold on hill
and lake and mountain and forest and stream. Not a sunrise but
speaks of His patient and enduring grace. Not a sunset but stirs
the conscience of the sinner and opens heaven itself to the
saint. So much of His divine glory the
Almighty Maker conveys by His sunrise and sunset touches, by
His flowers and woodland trees, by His vast ocean and starry
sky. Therefore, let me be strong and
of a good courage. He remembers me, His redeemed
child. The sights and sounds of the
landscape ought to be preachers and trumpets of the glory of
God. In the cool of the day, when
I pass through the country fields, or climb to the summit of the
hill, or sit and gaze across the sea, God and my soul should
meet and talk. The heavens declare the glory
of God. The skies proclaim the work of
his hands. Day after day, they pour forth
speech. Night after night, they display
knowledge. There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard. Psalm 19, verse 1 through 3. you