Down in the unfathomed depths of old Ocean there is no movement, no disturbance.  Gigantic “Majesties” and “Kaiser Wilhelms” and “Oregons” and “Vizcayas” plow and whiten the surface; tempests rage and Euroclydons roar and currents change and tides ebb and flow, but the great depth knows no ripple.  It is said that down there the most fragile of frail and delicate organisms grow in safety.  In the depths of the sanctified heart there is no storm and no breaker.  Trials may come and leave white scars; billows may beat and surges may roll, and water-spouts and tornadoes may make the upper sea boil with anguish and sorrow and grief, but deep in the heart there is calm.  There the delicate graces of the Spirit thrive and luxuriate.  Great, soulless, iron-keeled, worldly institutions and sharp-prowed cutters may ride over your sensibilities, but the inner placidity is unbroken.

The eternal sabbath.

God’s plan is to rest us so we can work for Him with ease and success.  He institutes an everlasting Sabbath in the spirit that we may be ceaseless in sanctified activities.  If a man is always jaded and tired he can not take hold of his work with much enthusiasm.

Spiritual poise.

There is no mistaking the man or woman who has found the second rest.  There is a poise of spirit and a sweet serious balance of soul which can not be counterfeited.  The preacher who appreciates spirituality sees no sight more beautiful than the serene, calm faces of auditors from whose souls the tempests have been cast.  Life’s toils and distractions and disappointments have all been negatived by the power of the all-conquering Christ.

A scene at Allentown.

These words are being written in the city of Allentown, Pa., where the writer is spending ten days in a series of Pentecostal services.  Last evening we saw a symbol of the rest Christ gives.  We strolled along the east bank of the Lehigh River about half an hour after sunset.  All the western sky was beautiful with an afterglow.  The water of the river, silver near the shore and golden toward the west, was as still as the face of a mirror.  The trees on the shore leaned over perfect pictures of themselves.  The hills, which fell back gracefully from the valley, were covered with cloaks of gold and vermillion and emerald, and not a leaf stirred in the evening air.  Far up the river the tiny bell of a canal-mule tinkled drowsily.  On the veranda of a little cottage a young mother crooned a lullably to a slumbering child, and a little bird in a thick grove called, “Peace!  Peace!”

Calm.

If God can make so beautiful a scene in the physical world, what can He not make in the spiritual?  Thank God!  He can excel anything the natural eye ever beheld.  He can hang the soul with paintings and turn the “River of Life clear as crystal” through it, and fill the chambers of the heart with lullabies and the song of birds crying, “Peace!” If there are times when we are awed and charmed by