“‘The heavens declare the glory o’ God, an’ the firmament showeth his handy-work.’ I used, whan I was a lad, to study astronomy a wee, i’ the houp o’ better hearin’ what the h’avens declared aboot the glory o’ God: I wud fain un’erstan’ the speech ae day cried across the nicht to the ither. But I was sair disapp’intit. The things the astronomer tellt semple fowk war verra won’erfu’, but I couldna fin’ i’ my hert ‘at they made me think ony mair o’ God nor I did afore. I dinna mean to say they michtna be competent to work that in anither, but it wasna my experrience o’ them. My hert was some sair at this, for ye see I was set upo’ winnin’ intil the presence o’ him I couldna bide frae, an’ at that time I hadna learnt to gang straucht to him wha’s the express image o’ ’s person, but, aye soucht him throuw the philosophy–eh, but it was bairnly philosophy!–o’ the guid buiks ‘at dwall upo’ the natur’ o’ God an’ a’ that, an’ his hatred o’ sin an’ a’ that–pairt an’ pairt true, nae doobt! but I wantit God great an’ near, an’ they made him oot sma’, sma’, an’ unco’ far awa’. Ae nicht I was oot by mysel’ upo’ the shore, jist as the stars war teetin’ oot. An’ it wasna as gien they war feart o’ the sun, an’ pleast ‘at he was gane, but as gien they war a’ teetin’ oot to see what had come o’ their Father o’ Lichts. A’ at ance I cam to mysel’, like oot o’ some blin’ delusion. Up I cuist my e’en aboon–an’ eh, there was the h’aven as God made it– awfu’!–big an’ deep, ay faddomless deep, an’ fu’ o’ the wan’erin’ yet steady lichts ‘at naething can blaw oot, but the breath o’ his mooth! Awa’ up an’ up it gaed, an’ deeper an’ deeper! an’ my e’en gaed traivellin’ awa’ an’ awa’, till it seemed as though they never could win back to me. A’ at ance they drappit frae the lift like a laverock, an’ lichtit upo’ the horizon, whaur the sea an’ the sky met like richteousness an’ peace kissin’ ane anither, as the psalm says. Noo I canna tell what it was, but jist there whaur the earth an’ the sky cam thegither, was the meetin’ o’ my earthly sowl wi’ God’s h’avenly sowl! There was bonny colours, an’ bonny lichts, an’ a bonny grit star hingin’ ower ‘t a’, but it was nane o’ a’ thae things; it was something deeper nor a’, an’ heicher nor a’! Frae that moment I saw– no hoo the h’avens declare the glory o’ God, but I saw them declarin’ ‘t, an’ I wantit nae mair. Astronomy for me micht sit an’ wait for a better warl’, whaur fowk didna weir oot their shune, an’ ither fowk hadna to men’ them. For what is the great glory o’ God but that, though no man can comprehen’ him, he comes doon, an’ lays his cheek til his man’s,
an’ says til him, ‘Eh, my cratur!’”

From Donal Grant by George MacDonald