lovingness, moving dimly in the background of things, in the touch of familiar hands or in the glances of dear eyes?  Surely, they have said to themselves, if love is the deepest, strongest, and most lasting force in the world, the same quality must be hidden deepest in the Heart of God.  This is the unique strength of the Christian revelation, the thought of the Fatherhood of God, and His tender care for all that he has made.  Again, who is there who in depression and anxiety has not had his load somewhat lightened by the sight of the fresh green of spring foliage against a blue sky, by the colour and scent of flowers, by the sweet melody of musical chords?  The aching spirit has said, “They are there—­beauty, and peace, and joy—­if I could but find the way to them.”  Who has not had his fear of death alleviated by the happy end of some beloved life, when the dear one has made, as it were, solemn haste to be gone, falling gently into slumber?  Who is there, who, speeding homewards in the sunset, has seen the dusky orange veil of flying light drawn softly westward over misty fields, where the old house stands up darkling among the glimmering pastures, and has not felt the presence of some sweet secret waiting for him beyond the gates of life and death?  All these things are symbols, because the emotions they arouse are veritably there, as indisputable a phenomenon as any fact which science has analysed.  The miserable mistake that many intellectual people make is to disregard what they would call vague emotions in the presence of scientific truth.  Yet such emotions have a far more intimate concern for us than the dim sociology of bees, or the concentric forces of the stars.  Our emotions are far more true and vivid experiences for us than indisputable laws of nature which never cut the line of our life at all.  We may wish, perhaps, that the laws of such emotions were analysed and systematised too, for it is a very timid and faltering spirit that thinks that definiteness is the same as profanation.  We may depend upon it that the deeper we can probe into such secrets, the richer will our conceptions of life and God become.

The mistake that is so often made by religious organisations, which depend so largely upon symbolism, is the terrible limiting of this symbolism to traditional ceremonies and venerable ritual.  It has been said that religion is the only form of poetry accessible to the poor; and it is true in the sense that anything which hallows and quickens the most normal and simple experiences of lives divorced from intellectual and artistic influences is a very real and true kind of symbolism.  It may be well to give people such symbolism as they can understand, and the best symbols of all are those that deal with the commonest emotions.  But it is a lean wisdom that emphasises a limited range of emotions at the expense of a larger range; and the spirit which limits the sacred influences of religion to particular buildings and particular rites is very