"
On this basis I reasoned with him in behalf of all that is precious to
Christian faith and hope, trying to show (what I earnestly believe)
that, admitting the existence of God, it is illogical to stop short of a
belief in revelation and immortality.
The rudest workman would not fling The fragments of his work away, If
every useless bit of clay He trod on were a sentient thing.
And does the Wisest Worker take Quick human hearts, instead of stone,
And hew and carve them one by one, Nor heed the pangs with which they
break?
And more: if but creation's waste, Would he have given us sense to yearn
For the perfection none can earn, And hope the fuller life to taste?
I think, if we most cease to be, It is cruelty refined To make the
instincts of our mind Stretch out toward eternity.
Wherefore I welcome Nature's cry, As earnest of a life again, Where
thought shall never be in vain, And doubt before the light shall fly.
My talks with him were helpful to me if not to him. In trying to remove
his doubts my own faith was confirmed, and my range of thought enlarged.
His reverent spirit left its impress upon mine.
"McCoy is a more religious man than either you or I, Doctor," said Tod
Robinson to me one day in reply to a remark in which I had given
expression to my solicitude for my doubting friend.
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