Post by forgiven on Mar 21, 2005 5:15:35 GMT -5
Title: Sorrowful, Yet Rejoicing
"As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" (2 Cor.
6:10).
The stoic scorns to shed a tear; the Christian is
not forbidden to weep. The soul may be dumb with
excessive grief, as the shearer's scissors pass
over the quivering flesh; or, when the heart is
on the point of breaking beneath the meeting
surges of trial, the sufferer may seek relief by
crying out with a loud voice. But there is
something even better.
They say that springs of sweet fresh water well
up amid the brine of salt seas; that the fairest
Alpine flowers bloom in the wildest and most
rugged mountain passes; that the noblest psalms
were the outcome of the profoundest agony of
soul.
Be it so. And thus amid manifold trials, souls
which love God will find reasons for bounding,
leaping joy. Though deep call to deep, yet the
Lord's song will be heard in silver cadence
through the night. And it is possible in the
darkest hour that ever swept a human life to
bless the God and Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ. Have you learned this lesson yet? Not
simply to endure God's will, nor only to choose
it; but to rejoice in it with joy unspeakable and
full of glory. --Tried as by F ire
I will be still, my bruised heart faintly
murmured,
As o'er me rolled a crushing load of woe;
The cry, the call, e'en the low moan was stifled;
I pressed my lips; I barred the tear drop's flow.
I will be still, although I cannot see it,
The love that bares a soul and fans pain's fire;
That takes away the last sweet drop of solace,
Breaks the lone harp string, hides Thy precious
lyre.
But God is love, so I will bide me, bide me--
We'll doubt not, Soul, we will be very still;
We'll wait till after while, when He shall lift
us
Yes, after while, when it shall be His will.
And I did listen to my heart's brave promise;
And I did quiver, struggling to be still;
And I did lift my tearless eyes to Heaven,
Repeating ever, "Yea, Christ, have Thy will."
But soon my heart upspake from 'neath our burden,
Reproved my tight-drawn lips, my visage sad:
"We can do more than this, O Soul," it whispered.
"We can be more than still, we can be glad!"
And now my heart and I are sweetly singing--
Singing without the sound of tuneful strings;
Drinking abundant waters in the desert,
Crushed, and yet soaring as on eagle's wings.
--S. P. W.
"As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" (2 Cor.
6:10).
The stoic scorns to shed a tear; the Christian is
not forbidden to weep. The soul may be dumb with
excessive grief, as the shearer's scissors pass
over the quivering flesh; or, when the heart is
on the point of breaking beneath the meeting
surges of trial, the sufferer may seek relief by
crying out with a loud voice. But there is
something even better.
They say that springs of sweet fresh water well
up amid the brine of salt seas; that the fairest
Alpine flowers bloom in the wildest and most
rugged mountain passes; that the noblest psalms
were the outcome of the profoundest agony of
soul.
Be it so. And thus amid manifold trials, souls
which love God will find reasons for bounding,
leaping joy. Though deep call to deep, yet the
Lord's song will be heard in silver cadence
through the night. And it is possible in the
darkest hour that ever swept a human life to
bless the God and Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ. Have you learned this lesson yet? Not
simply to endure God's will, nor only to choose
it; but to rejoice in it with joy unspeakable and
full of glory. --Tried as by F ire
I will be still, my bruised heart faintly
murmured,
As o'er me rolled a crushing load of woe;
The cry, the call, e'en the low moan was stifled;
I pressed my lips; I barred the tear drop's flow.
I will be still, although I cannot see it,
The love that bares a soul and fans pain's fire;
That takes away the last sweet drop of solace,
Breaks the lone harp string, hides Thy precious
lyre.
But God is love, so I will bide me, bide me--
We'll doubt not, Soul, we will be very still;
We'll wait till after while, when He shall lift
us
Yes, after while, when it shall be His will.
And I did listen to my heart's brave promise;
And I did quiver, struggling to be still;
And I did lift my tearless eyes to Heaven,
Repeating ever, "Yea, Christ, have Thy will."
But soon my heart upspake from 'neath our burden,
Reproved my tight-drawn lips, my visage sad:
"We can do more than this, O Soul," it whispered.
"We can be more than still, we can be glad!"
And now my heart and I are sweetly singing--
Singing without the sound of tuneful strings;
Drinking abundant waters in the desert,
Crushed, and yet soaring as on eagle's wings.
--S. P. W.