and intelligent life, whereon desolation and solitude forever prevail?
Our own Earth is inhabited by a large variety of living forms ranging from the microscopic bacteria and animalcula to the glorious form of man with all his superior endowments. The air, earth and water are teeming with their billions of sensitive creatures; even a breath of air, a drop of water, or a leaf on a tree often contains a miniature world of living forms.
Amidst all this confusing animation around us, is it not absurd to suppose that other worlds, larger or smaller than our own, are barren of all life, and that from them no songs of thanksgiving ever arise to the Maker and Ruler of all things?
Such a supposition not only gives us a strange view of the character and attributes of God, but is at once repulsive to our instincts; anyone wishing to accept it may do so, but as for me and for a large company of my kind, we prefer to give a larger meaning to creation and a higher glory to the Creator.
Let no one doubt that the universe is
