15. And I myself say: “O my God, where art thou? See now, where art thou?” In thee I take my breath for a little while, when I pour out my soul beyond myself in the voice of joy and praise, in the voice of him that keeps holyday. And still it is cast down because it relapses and becomes an abyss, or rather it feels that it still is an abyss. My faith speaks to my soul–the faith that thou dost kindle to light my path in the night: “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted in me? Hope in God.” For his word is a lamp to your feet. Hope and persevere until the night passes–that mother of the wicked; until the Lord’s wrath subsides–that wrath whose children once we were, of whom we were beforehand in darkness, whose residue we still bear about us in our bodies, dead because of sin. Hope and endure until the day breaks and the shadows flee away. Hope in the Lord: in the morning I shall stand in his presence and keep watch; I shall forever give praise to him. In the morning I shall stand and shall see my God, who is the health of my countenance, who also will quicken our mortal bodies by the Spirit that dwells in us, because in mercy he was moving over our lightless and restless inner deep. From this we have received an earnest, even now in this pilgrimage, that we are now in the light, since already we are saved by hope and are children of the light and children of the day–not children of the night, nor of the darkness, which we have been hitherto. Between those children of the night and ourselves, in this still uncertain state of human knowledge, only thou canst rightly distinguish–thou who dost test the heart and who dost call the light day, and the darkness night. For who can see us clearly but thee? What do we have that we have not received from thee, who madest from the same lump some vessels to noble, and others to ignoble, use?