I allude again to that sermon of Bishop Simpson’s, where Job asks these questions, and the Lord tells him to find out that right next to him. Why don’t you study that, and interpret it in that manner so sensible? You find everywhere we are doing that. On that account people can not get a knowledge of geology, because geology asks you to commence right at the door. Stoop and pick up the pebble there; learn the soil, and teach yourselves and your children what it was. This is a progressive world where we have all got to begin. It seems wonderful that we have not done that before. If you will try it, if you will get the first weed by your door, and teach your children about it, and go out further and study geology and all the other ologies in that way, life will be lifted on the highest plane for all. [Applause.] Everybody that has tried that has found an exceeding great reward. I remember years ago a poem by James Russell Lowell, in which he describes the prophet going up to the hoary mountain to go and learn from God. “Worn and footsore was the prophet, When he gained the holy hill; ‘God has left the earth,’ he murmured, ‘Here his presence lingers still.’ ‘God of all the olden prophets, Wilt thou speak with men no more? Have I not as truly served thee As thy chosen ones of yore? Hear me, Guider of my fathers, Lo! a humble heart is mine; By thy mercy I beseech thee, Grant thy servant but a sign!’ Bowing then his head, he listened For an answer to his prayer; No loud burst of thunder followed, Not a murmur stirred the air: But the tuft of moss before him Opened while he waited yet, And, from out the rock’s hard bosom, Sprang a tender violet. ‘God, I thank thee,’ said the prophet, ‘Hard of heart and blind was I, Looking to the holy mountain For the gift of prophecy. Still thou speakest with thy children Freely as in eld sublime; Humbleness, and love, and patience, Still give empire over time. Had I trusted in thy nature, And had faith in lowly things, Thou thyself wouldst then have sought me, And set free my spirit’s wings. But I looked for signs and wonders, That o’er men should give me sway; Thirsting to be more than mortal, I was even less than clay. Ere I entered on my journey, As I girt my loins to start, Ran to me my little daughter, The beloved of my heart; In her hand she held a flower, Like to this as like may be, Which beside my very threshold, She had plucked and brought to me.’“ [Applause.]