His Billows

All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me (Ps - 42:7)

They are HIS billows, whether they go o’er us,  

Hiding His face in smothering spray and foam;  

Or smooth and sparkling, spread a path before us,  

And to our haven bear us safely home.  

They are HIS billows, whether for our succor  

He walks across them, stilling all our fear;  

Or to our cry there comes no aid nor answer,  

And in the lonely silence none is near.  

They are HIS billows, whether we are toiling  

Through tempest-driven waves that never cease,  

While deep to deep with clamor loud is calling;  

Or at His word they hush themselves in peace.  

They are HIS billows, whether He divides them,  

Making us walk dryshod where seas had flowed;  

Or lets tumultuous breakers surge about us,  

Rushing unchecked across our only road.  

They are HIS billows, and He brings us through them;  

So He has promised, so His love will do.  

Keeping and leading, guiding and upholding,  

To His sure harbor, He will bring us through.  

—Annie Johnson Flint

Stand up in the place where the dear Lord has put you, and there do your best. God gives us trial tests. He puts life before us as an antagonist face to face. Out of the buffeting of a serious conflict we are expected to grow strong. The tree that grows where tempests toss its boughs and bend its trunk often almost to breaking, is often more firmly rooted than the tree which grows in the sequestered valley where no storm ever brings stress or strain. The same is true of life. The grandest character is grown in hardship.

In His Name

Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full (John -  16:24)

During the Civil War, a man had an only son who enlisted in the armies of the Union. The father was a banker and, although he consented to his son’s going, it seemed as if it would break his heart to let him go.

He became deeply interested in the soldier boys, and whenever he saw a uniform, his heart went out as he thought of his own dear boy. He spent his time, neglected his business, gave his money to caring for the soldiers who came home invalid. His friends remonstrated with him, saying he had no right to neglect his business and spend so much thought upon the soldiers, so he fully decided to give it all up.

After he had come to this decision, there stepped into his bank one day a private soldier in a faded, worn uniform, who showed in his face and hands the marks of the hospital.

The poor fellow was fumbling in his pocket to get something or other, when the banker saw him and, perceiving his purpose, said to him:

“My dear fellow, I cannot do anything for you today. I am extremely busy. You will have to go to your headquarters; the officers there will look after you.”

Still the poor convalescent stood, not seeming to fully understand what was said to him. Still he fumbled in his pockets and, by and by, drew out a scrap of dirty paper, on which there were a few lines written with a pencil, and laid this soiled sheet before the banker. On it he found these words:

“Dear Father: “This is one of my comrades who was wounded in the last fight, and has been in the hospital. Please receive him as myself. —Charlie.”

In a moment all the resolutions of indifference which this man made, flew away. He took the boy to his palatial home, put him in Charlie’s room, gave him Charlie’s seat at the table, kept him until food and rest and love had brought him back to health, and then sent him back again to imperil his life for the flag.

_A Bar of Steel_

I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument (Isa -  41:15)

A bar of steel worth five dollars, when wrought into horseshoes, is worth ten dollars. If made into needles, it is worth three hundred and fifty dollars; if into penknife blades, it is worth thirty-two thousand dollars; if into springs for watches it is worth two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What a drilling the poor bar must undergo to be worth this! But the more it is manipulated, the more it is hammered and passed through the fire, and beaten and pounded and polished, the greater the value.

May this parable help us to be silent, still, and longsuffering. Those who suffer most are capable of yielding most; and it is through pain that God is getting the most out of us, for His glory and the blessing of others. —Selected

“Oh, give Thy servant patience to be still,  

And bear Thy will;  

Courage to venture wholly on the arm  

That will not harm;  

The wisdom that will never let me stray  

Out of my way;  

The love that, now afflicting, knoweth best  

When I should rest.”  

Life is very mysterious. Indeed it would be inexplicable unless we believed that God was preparing us for scenes and ministries that lie beyond the veil of sense in the eternal world, where highly-tempered spirits will be required for special service.

“The turning-lathe that has the sharpest knives produces the finest work.”