“The scoffers have long sat in the gate, and lolled out the tongue and cried aha! but of a surety the time draweth nigh.  Because He delayeth, where, say they, is the promise of His coming?  But doth a sparrow fall to the ground without His knowledge, and are not ye of more value than many sparrows, oh, ye of little faith?  Shall not the sorrows of fathers move the heart of the universal Father?”

It is scarcely to be expected that the young man entirely understood the rhapsody of Holden, though familiar with his moods.  He saw, however, it had some connection with the one idea that had mastered all others, leaving them, notwithstanding, at perfect liberty, except so far as they interfered with itself.  For it cannot have escaped observation, that on all subjects but one Holden exercised an ordinary degree of judgment, a circumstance by no means singular in the case of persons affected with monomania.  Pownal, therefore, did as he was accustomed, avoiding all contradiction, and falling in with the other’s thoughts.

“That,” said Pownal, “it seems to me, is the worthiest name that can be given to the Supreme Being.”

“It is the worthiest and the dearest.  Thou, young man, canst know nothing of the emotions of a father’s heart.  Couldst thou look into its abysses of tenderness a new world would be revealed to thee, of which now thou only dreamest.  Not a drop of blood that wandereth through its channels, but would coin itself into a joy for the beloved.  But what is human love to His, the Creator of love?  A breath, a bubble, a sigh.  One great heart comprehendeth in its embrace all hearts.  Look around thee,” he added, throwing up his arms, “and behold the evidence:  yon blue vault filled with bright worlds, bright because they are happy; this vast ocean teeming with strange life; the green earth whence, as from an altar, the perfume of grateful flowers and chants of praising birds do ceaselessly arise.  Young man, be thankful and adore.”

Holden stopped, as if he expected a reply, and Pownal therefore said: 

“I am not, I fear, sufficiently thankful for the favors of Providence.”

“‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth,’” pursued the old man.  “How many evils had I escaped had I heeded the advice I give!  But it is the old tale of human folly.  The aged with his experience is counted for nothing.  My son,” he added impressively, laying his hand on Pownal, “behold these furrows on a withered face.  They are the traces of unrestrained passion.  I forgot my Creator in the days of my youth.”

He turned and walked away, but presently retraced his steps and took up the train of thought he seemed to have dropped.

“But he forgot not me.  His mercies are over all his works.  Even when I was a great way off my Father saw me, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on my neck, and kissed me.  And now will he put the best robe upon me, and a ring upon my finger, and shoes upon my feet.”