Henry Clay (H. C.) Trumbull
We can say, “Blessed is night, for it reveals to us the stars.” In the same way we can say, “Blessed is sorrow, for it reveals God’s comfort.” The floods washed away home and mill, all the poor man had in the world. But as he stood on the scene of his loss, after the water had subsided, broken-hearted and discouraged, he saw something shining in the bank which the waters had washed bare. “It looks like gold,” he said. It was gold. The flood which bad beggared him made him rich. So it is ofttimes in life.