A S a child I loved the beauty of the Bible verse, "Be still, and know that I am God. ..." Whenever I heard it, I imaged a clear, still pool with pale pink water lilies reflected in its mirror-depths.

As I grew into girlhood and young womanhood on the farm, the words often came to me when I beheld with awe the miracles of nature: the ever-new mystery of the sunrise; the unfolding of a wild rose; a gentle summer rain; a clear little stream, whose waters were ice cold, rippling lightly under the bridges, across the road to lose itself in a grove of white-limbed aspen fluttering their leaves like tinkling silver bells; a lark releasing a splashing fount of jeweled notes on a cool-dewed April morning; the clean, golden kernels pouring from the thresher at harvest; the silence of night beneath the stars with the moon silvering the ebon shade. At such times Good seemed very near, and I experienced the serenity and strength of his love.

After my marriage, the verse came to hold even deeper beauty and meaning. Crystal-clear in my memory is the sweet assurance, the faith that touched knowledge, which came to me when I first looked upon the miracle of my little daughter, my first-born. "Be still, and know that I am God." I felt so near heaven that it seemed I could reach out and take the Father's hand.

So many times the sacred words have bowed my head in reverence and thanksgiving in the rearing of my little group. Joy unspeakable has filled my soul as I have watched five pairs of blue eyes rapt with wonderment, and smiles slowly illuming trusting little faces as the principles of the gospel were unfolded in simplicity in the bedtime story.

Even in death, when my kingdom has seemed on the verge of crashing, these beautiful words of sublime serenity and trust have given strength and peace. I have been able to say, "Thy will be done," and despairing bitterness has departed. My tears have become prayers of thankfulness for the loan of one of God's spirits, even for a few short years.

Since my children have reached maturity and the "world" has called them to their labors in different places, I have come to value the calming power and strength of this quiet verse more than ever before, for so many times I have been reassured that God lives and watches tenderly over his children.

At one such time beneath the stars, I sang a silent paean to the Lord for his ever-watchful care. Then, looking up, it seemed that the crystal stars were warm and friendly and mutely singing of eternal love. Slowly and with awe I spoke aloud, "Be still, and know that I am God."