We are in a house with windows on all sides. On one side the sweet garden is trampled and torn, the beeches blown down, the fountain broken; you sit and look out, and it is all very miserable. Shut the window. I do not mean forget the garden as it was, but do not brood on it as it is. Open the window on the other side, where the great mountains shoot heavenward, and the stars rising and setting, crown their peaks. Down those stairs look for the descending feet of the Son of Man, coming to comfort you. This world, if it were alone, would not be worth much – I should be miserable already; but it is the porch to the Father’s home, and He does not expect us to be quite happy, and knows we must sometimes be very unhappy, till we get there.