“Oh, Maister Fuller,” said he one day, “I hev a peeace ’at’s aboot parfect. Ah’ve been thinkin’ o’ that text wheere the Lord says if His people wad nobbut hae hearkened tiv His commandments, their peeace sud hae floa’d like a river. Why, when fost ah gav’ me ’art te God, me peeace floa’d wiv a rush for a while, an’ then gat inte t’ shallo’s. Then it met fost a temptation, an’ then a trubble, an’ then a bit o’ neglect o’ prayer, an’ t’ streeam was owt bud eeather smooth or full; it went like a shallo’ beck, wiv a lot o’ steeanes, an’ twists, an’ bendin’s in it, cheeafin’, an’ splutterin’, an’ bickerin’; frothin’ up ageean this corner, an’ bubblin’ ower that, bud noo that it gets nigh te t’ sea, it gans deeper an’ stiddier, an’ floas sae smooth ’at ah can scaycely tell it’s movin’ at all. That’s just hoo ah feel te-day. Ah’s near t’ sea; t’ aushun ov infanite luv an’ glory oppens oot afoore ma’, and ah’s slitherin’ on an’ slippin’ away, still, an’ quiet, an’ ’appy; an’ ah sall seean gan inte t’ sea.” Here the old man waved his arms as “one who spreadeth forth his hands to swim.” “Oh, what a sea! t’ luv o’ Jesus, all on it. Prayse the Lord, ah’ve knoan summut aboot it; ah’ve drunken it, an’ ah’ve dipped in it, an’ it’s shed abroad i’ me ’art. Bud ah’s gannin te swim iv it, an’ te knoa Him as ah is knoan. T’ Revalation talks aboot a sea o’ glass mingled wi’ fire. What it meeans ah deean’t knoa, bud ah think it meeans parfect peeace glowin’ wi’ t’ glory o’ parfect luv. Halleluia! ah sall-- ‘Plunge inte t’ Godheead’s deepest sea, Lost i’ luv’s immensaty.’”