"I wonder what he is like when he talks? If he is married what does his wife think of him? If he has children how do they feel toward him? Or if he is a single man, what would I think if he should wish to marry my daughter?" I then realized that I knew absolutely nothing about him except that he was a dexterous machine. Then falling into a homiletical mood I thought of the great skill of God. "How wonderfully _He_ can toss balls, and strew the milky way, and hurl Pleiades and Orion! Before such infinite skill the performance which I have just witnessed is ridiculous." Then the thought forced itself upon me, "What would God be like if He were to talk? What kind of a person should we find Him to be if He walked our streets, and engaged in business, and sat at the table as one of the family circle?" I then realized that if God could only toss balls and direct atoms we should really know nothing whatever of His character. If He were no more than the uniform power of nature's laws He would too closely resemble gravity, or electricity, to be satisfying to His children. The human heart demands that, in addition to all this, God be individual, and spontaneous, like other persons whom we know, and with whom we hold fellowship. We enjoy seeing our friends run machines, but what an awful life it would be if every person in the world gave no heed to anyone or anything except the machine which he uniformly and incessantly operated! What a monstrous and oppressive idea it is to think of God, silent as a sphinx, spending an eternity with His mind so riveted upon the operation of His machine-world that He has neither time nor capacity for anything else. If such a God had time to think of it, He surely would envy the little child who can prattle, and laugh, and sing.