More than one young face in the congregation showed that this sentence struck home and threw light on hitherto unexplained emotions. "This is like what I mean," continued Draxy, "by the Gospel of Mystery, the good tidings of the things we cannot understand. This gospel is everywhere. Not the wisest man that has ever lived can fully understand the smallest created thing: a drop of water, a grain of dust, a beam of light, can baffle his utmost research. So with our own lives, with our own hearts; every day brings a mystery--sin and grief and death: all these are mysteries; gospels of mystery, good tidings of mystery; yes, good tidings! These are what prove that God means to take us into another world after this one; into a world where all things which perplexed us here will be explained.... O my dear friends!" she exclaimed at last, clasping her hands tightly, "thank God for the things which we cannot understand: except for them, how should we ever be sure of immortality?" Then she read them a hymn called "The Gospel of Mystery." Coming after the sermon, it was sweet and clear to all the people's hearts. Before the sermon it would have seemed obscure. The Gospel of Mystery. Good tidings every day, God's messengers ride fast. We do not hear one half they say, There is such noise on the highway, Where we must wait while they ride past. Their banners blaze and shine With Jesus Christ's dear name, And story, how by God's design He saves us, in His love divine, And lifts us from our sin and shame. Their music fills the air, Their songs sing all of Heaven; Their ringing trumpet peals declare What crowns to souls who fight and dare, And win, shall presently be given. Their hands throw treasures round Among the multitude. No pause, no choice, no count, no bound, No questioning how men are found, If they be evil or be good. But all the banners bear Some words we cannot read; And mystic echoes in the air, Which borrow from the songs no share, In sweetness all the songs exceed. And of the multitude, No man but in his hand Holds some great gift misunderstood, Some treasure, for whose use or good His ignorance sees no demand. These are the tokens lent By immortality; Birth-marks of our divine descent; Sureties of ultimate intent, God's Gospel of Eternity. Good tidings every day. The messengers ride fast; Thanks be to God for all they say; There is such noise on the highway, Let us keep still while they ride past. But the sermon which of all others her people loved best was one on the Love of God. This one she was often asked to repeat,--so often, that she said one day to Angy, who asked for it, "Why, Angy, I am ashamed to. Everybody must know it by heart. I am sure I do."