The eternal laws of God's providence are still at work, though we may choose to forget them, and the Judge who administers them is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, even Jesus Christ the Lord, the Everlasting Rock, on which all morality and all society is founded. Whosoever shall fall on that Rock, in repentance and humility, shall indeed be broken, but of him it is written, "A broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise." _Discipline and other Sermons_. 1866. God's Mercy or Man's? July 31. "He fought till he could fight no more, and then died like a hero, with all his wounds in front; and may God have mercy on his soul." "That last was a Popish prayer, Master Frank," said old Mr. Carey. "Most worshipful sir, you surely would not wish God _not_ to have mercy on his soul?" "No--Eh? Of course not, for that's all settled by now, for he is dead, poor fellow!" "And you can't help being a little fond of him still?" "Eh? Why, I should be a brute if I were not. Fond of him? why, I would sooner have given my forefinger than that he should have gone to the dogs." "Then, my dear sir, if _you_ feel for him still, in spite of all his faults, how do you know that God may not feel for him in spite of all his faults? For my part," said Frank, in his fanciful way, "without believing in that Popish purgatory, I cannot help holding with Plato that such heroical souls, who have wanted but little of true greatness here, are hereafter, by strait discipline, brought to a better mind." _Westward Ho_! chap. v. 1854. The Chrysalis State. You ask, "What is the Good?" I suppose God Himself is the Good; and it is this, in addition to a thousand things, which makes me feel the absolute certainty of a resurrection, and a hope that this, our present life, instead of being an ultimate one, which is to decide our fate for ever, is merely some sort of chrysalis state in which man's faculties are so narrow and cramped, his chances (I speak of the millions, not of units) of knowing the Good so few, that he may have chances hereafter, perhaps continually fresh ones, to all eternity. _Letters and Memories_. 1852. SAINTS' DAYS, FASTS, & FESTIVALS. JULY 25. St. James, Apostle and Martyr. And they will know his worth Years hence . . . And crown him martyr; and his name will ring Through all the shores of earth, and all the stars Whose eyes are sparkling through their tears to see His triumph, Preacher and Martyr. . . . . . . . . . . It is over; and the woe that's dead, Rises next hour a glorious angel. _Santa Maura_. August. "I cannot tell what you say, green leaves, I cannot tell what you say; But I know that there is a spirit in you, And a word in you this day. "I cannot tell what ye say, rosy rocks, I cannot tell what ye say; But I know that there is a spirit in you, And a word in you this day.