He remembered to have prayed as fervently as this before--many, many years ago. In those days--the days of his earliest religious experiences--he had prayed, almost as earnestly as this, for his own spiritual prosperity, for the extension of Christ's Kingdom and for the enlightenment of the world. It seemed like a dream as he recalled it. He was scarcely more than a boy in those days. The ardor and intensity of that distant time had deserted him so gradually, and had vanished so imperceptibly, that he had never missed it until now. Love had come into his life, irradiating and transfiguring everything. Love had led to marriage; four happy children had brought added gladness to his home and fresh contentment to his heart; and he had abandoned himself without reserve to these domestic cares and comforts. The things that had so completely captivated his soul were all of them _good_ things--just as the fig and the vine and the olive, the corn and the flocks and the herds were all of them _good_ things--but he had allowed them to elbow out the wealthiest things of all. The _good_ had become the enemy of the _best_. Before his heart had been gladdened by those treasures that were now so dear to him, he had every day _rejoiced in the Lord and joyed in the God of his salvation_. But not since! His enrichment had proved his impoverishment! What was it that the preacher had said? 'It is a small thing to love the _gifts_ as long as you possess the _Giver_; the supreme tragedy lies in losing the _Giver_ and retaining only the _gifts_.' And Walter Petherick felt that night that that supreme tragedy was his. He rose from his knees, reached for his Bible, and turned once more to the chapter from which the minister had preached. '_O Lord_,' it began, '_revive Thy work in the midst of years!_' He himself was '_in the midst of years_.' The thought brought with it a sense of shame and a rush of thankfulness. He was _ashamed_ that he had permitted the years that had gone to filch so much from him. Like waves that strew treasures on the shore, and snatch treasures from the shore, he felt that the years had brought much and taken much. Yet he felt grateful that he was still '_in the midst of the years_'; it is better to discover life's loss at the halfway house than to find it out at the end of the journey! He returned the Bible to its place, and, as he did so, he closed his eyes and repeated for himself the prophet's prayer. '_O Lord_,' he cried, '_revive Thy work in the midst of the years; in the midst of the years make known; in wrath remember mercy!_' It seemed as if the prayer had opened the gates of his soul to the peace of the night. As he looked again at the glistening river, he felt strangely soothed and comforted. And, half an hour later, he was sleeping as restfully as any of his children. VI