You have sometimes seen how the ship cute through the billows, leaving a white furrow behind her, and causing the sea to boil around her. Such is life, says Job, “like the swift ships.” I cannot stop its motion; I may direct it with the rudder of God’s Holy Spirit; but nevertheless, like a swift ship, my life must speed on its way until it reaches its haven. Where is that haven to be? Shall it be found in the land of bitterness and barrenness, that dreary region of the lost? Or shall it be that sweet haven of eternal peace?