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Atheist said, "If there be a God, why is it not written on the sun, in great characters that all can read,—?" It is written on the sun, and on the earth, and on every leaf. In what language would he have it written?—In English? Then the Frenchman could not understand it. In German? Then the Italian could not comprehend it. It is written now in nature's own tongue, which every one who is right-minded may read and understand.

Let us walk forth and view the works of creation, and listen to the language they utter. It is the moming-hour—a bright spring morning. The new-risen sun throws his beams aslant upon the landscape,—thus, in a manner, doubling the objects it falls upon, by drawing their forms in outline on the ground, and at the same time enhancing their beauty by the contrast of light and shade. The freshened face of nature smiles in the new light. The grass, bushes, trees, are all hung with glistening dew-drops. The new-born buds swell to bursting, and send forth a delicious fragrance. The soft south wind breathes over all, and the blue heaven above answers in serenity to the peaceful earth beneath. All this is but inanimate nature; yet has it not a voice? Is there not a language of looks, as well as of words? And is there not an 1*