Why not thus seek, in the noblest sense of the word, to rise above our trials, and perplexities, and sorrows, by taking the bright side of things. There are two windows in every soul. The one looks out on a dreary prospect,--lowering clouds, barren wilds, bleak, sullen hills, pathways overgrown with rank and noxious weeds. The other opens on what is bright and beauteous,--sunny slopes, verdant meadows, luscious flowers, the song of birds. Many there are who sit always at the former--gazing on the dark side of things, nursing their sorrows, brooding over their trials. They can see nothing but Sinai and Horeb--the trail of serpents and the lair of wild beasts. Others, with a truer gospel-spirit, love, with hopeful countenance, to watch the breaking of the sunbeam in the darkened sky. Like Paul, they seat themselves at the bright lattice, saying, "_Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say, rejoice._" Both look on identically the same landscape. But the one descry only dull heaths and moors draped in sombre hue. The others see these glorified with sunlight. The one gaze on nothing but inky skies and drenching torrents. The others behold the bow of heaven arching the sky, and the rain-drops glittering like jewels on leaf, and grass, and flower. The one can descry only "Hill Difficulties" and "Doubting Castles." The others love to gaze on Hermons and Mizars, on "the Palace of the Beautiful,"--the land of Beulah;--and, bounding the prospect, the towers and streets of the Celestial City. They are ready to acknowledge that, however many may have been their tribulations, their mercies are greater and more manifold still;--that however many the shadowy valleys, the bright spots outnumber the dreary. Are any who read these pages cast down by reason of trouble, and perplexity, and sorrow? Is God's hand lying heavily upon you--are you in darkness, and in the deeps? Seek to lift the eye of faith to _Him_. Seasons of trial must either bring us nearer _to_ Him, or drive us further _from_ Him. It is an old saying, "Affliction never leaves us as it finds us." It either leads us to "_remember_ God," or to banish and _forget_ Him. How many there are (and how sad is their case) who, when Providence seems to frown,--when their hearts are smitten like grass, their cherished hopes blighted, their gourds withered,--are led, in the bitterness of their spirits, to say, "My soul is cast down within me. _therefore_, I will pine away in disconsolate sorrow. I will rush to ruin and despair. My lot is hard, my punishment is greater than I can bear;--all that made life happiness to me has perished;--THEREFORE, I will harden my heart. I do well to be angry, even unto death. Existence has no charm for me. I long to die--my only rest will be the quiet of the grave!"