Such was the spirit of a venerable [1913:A]patriarch--who shed on a very
humble station the lustre of brilliant graces--that, when the storm sent
others in haste to their homes, he was wont to leave his own, and to
stand with upturned face, raised eye, and with his grey head uncovered,
to watch the flash and listen to the music of the roaring thunder. How
fine his reply to those who expressed their wonder at his aspect and
attitude--"It's my Father's voice, and I like well to hear it!" What a
sublime example of the perfect love that casteth out fear?
--_From Memoir of Guthrie._