God creates pure, life-giving water in diverse beautiful natural settings.
Not in the simmering still, over smoky fires choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded with the stench of sickening odors and corruption, doth your Father in heaven prepare the precious essence of life, — pure cold water. But in the glade and glassy dell, where the red deer wanders and the child loves to play, — there God brews it; and down, low down, in the deepest valleys, where the fountain murmurs and the rills sing; and high up in the mountain-tops where the naked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where storm-clouds brood and the thunder-storms crash; and far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricane howls music, and the big wave rolls the chorus, sweeping the march of God, — there he brews it, beverage of life, health-giving water. And everywhere it is a thing of beauty, gleaming in the dewdrop, singing in the summer-rain, shining in the ice-gem, till they seem turned to living jewels; spreading a golden vein over the setting sun, or a white gauze around the midnight moon; sporting in the cataract; sleeping in the glacier; dancing in the hail-shower; folding its bright snow-curtains softly around the wintry world; and weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the raindrops of the earth, all checkered over with the celestial flowers by the mystic hand of refraction, — that blessed life-water. No poison bubbles on its brink; its foam brings not madness and murder; no blood stains its liquid glass; pale widows and starving children weep not burning tears in its depths. Speak out, my friends: would you exchange it for the demon's drink, alcohol?
— Gough
