Father in the murmur of the stream, the gentle rustle of the night-wind, the breath of the flowers.

It says to me, “Rest my child. All things rest. Take your rest. I am here. I will never leave nor forsake you.”

I let go all effort to do or to be.

I sink back into these waiting arms.

I feel them close tenderly about me.

I am in the “green pastures,” beside the “still waters.”

I am with the good Shepherd of the sheep.

I am asleep, for “He giveth His beloved, sleep.”