One comes and asks why we sit there nodding so moodily.

Ah, they do not see what we see.
"A moment's time, a narrow space, Divides me from that heavenly place, Or shuts me up in hell." So says Wesley's hymn, which we sing evening by evening.

What matter sunshine and walls, men and sheep?
"The things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal." They are real.
The Bible we bear always in our breast; its pages are our food; we learn to repeat it; we weep much, for in sunshine and in shade, in the early morning or the late evening, in the field or in the house, the devil walks with us.

He comes to a real person, copper-coloured face, head a little on one side, forehead knit, asking questions.

Believe me, it were better to be followed by three deadly diseases than by him.