"Did God kill him or did the great and terrible machine, called the world, kill him? What is the world, and what is God? When does God act, and when does the universe act? Would they not be squarely in each other's way much of the time? The world I know, and its activities I behold, but where is God? Does He have an abode, or is He a sort of spiritual ether that pervades the universe?" And my heart responded, "Oh, you have never yet settled the question of whether there is a God!" So once more God faded into a dream, or a guess, while the elements continued to display their terrifying power. At daylight I stood with a broken heart beside my dead brother, believing either that there was no God, or else that my brother had gone to endless torment. A few moments later I saw my father kneel by his side, and heard him say, "Oh, my son, my son, would to God I had died for thee!" In a short time we were invited to breakfast, and my father being unable to speak motioned to me to say grace. However I managed I do not know, but out of a choking throat I said grace to as empty and Godless a world as any human being ever faced. Two weeks after my brother's death I entered the theological seminary. The deep, vast, and unshakable verities from which I could not escape were sorrow and love. All else was chaos. As a hungry man seeks for food, so I sought for light. Much of the theology in the books which I read irritated me so that I could scarcely eat my food at mealtimes. Yet it was important that I should learn the history of human thought. All of my professors I truly loved and respected, but the attitude of theological schools more than thirty years ago was not wholly suited to the needs of one on the border of a "new world-awakening" whose faith had suffered so much and so long. The theological world was not quite ready to give the help that it now gives to many suffering minds. During my first year in the seminary I frequently dreamed of seeing my brother in torment. Sometimes I would wake trembling, and even when I could throw off the thought and go to sleep, I was liable to repeat the dream in some new form. Once when I was walking with one of the professors, as true a Christian man as ever I knew, I told him of the circumstances of my brother's death. He asked me if my parents were Christians. I told him that they were very good Christians. Then he counseled me not to go off into any heresies, but to feel comforted concerning my brother; for "The promises were to the parents and to their children unto the third and fourth generation." While I listened to this in silence, yet the following thoughts went through my mind: "Then God would save my brother who had not improved his privileges, while He would consign to endless torment our poor play-fellows who were not blessed with the good influence of Christian parents."