"
"Just so. Then if a man turns himself away from the Father of
Lights--the great Sun--how can he be warmed?"
"But the earth can't help it, father."
"But the man can, Ranald. He feels the cold, and he knows he can turn
to the light. Even this poor old man knows it now. God is shining on
him--a wintry way--or he would not feel the cold at all; he would be
only a lump of ice, a part of the very winter itself. The good of what
warmth God gives him is, that he feels cold. If he were all cold, he
couldn't feel cold."
"Does he want to turn to the Sun, then, father?"
"I do not know. I only know that he is miserable because he has not
turned to the Sun."
"What will you say to him, father?"
"I cannot tell, my boy. It depends on what I find him thinking. Of all
things, my boy, keep your face to the Sun. You can't shine of
yourself, you can't be good of yourself, but God has made you able to
turn to the Sun whence all goodness and all shining comes. God's
children may be very naughty, but they must be able to turn towards
him. The Father of Lights is the Father of every weakest little baby
of a good thought in us, as well as of the highest devotion of
martyrdom. If you turn your face to the Sun, my boy, your soul will,
when you come to die, feel like an autumn, with the golden fruits of
the earth hanging in rich clusters ready to be gathered--not like a
winter.
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