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March
9
“Look from the top. ” (Song of Solomon 4:8)
Crushing weights give the Christian wings. It seems like a contradiction
in terms, but it is a blessed truth. David out of some bitter experience
cried: "Oh, that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be
at rest" (Psa. 55:6). But before he finished
this meditation he seems to have realized that his wish for wings was a
realizable one. For he says, "Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he will
sustain thee."
The word
"burden" is translated in the Bible margin, "what he (Jehovah)
hath given thee." The saints' burdens are God-given; they lead him to
"wait upon Jehovah," and when that is done, in the magic of trust,
the "burden" is metamorphosed into a pair of wings, and the
weighted one "mounts up with wings as eagles. ━Sunday School
Times.
One day when
walking down the street,
On business bent,
while thinking hard
About the
"hundred cares" which seemed
Like thunder
clouds about to break
In torrents,
Self-pity said to me:
"You poor,
poor thing, you have too much
To do. Your
life is far too hard.
This heavy load
will crush you soon."
A swift response
of sympathy
Welled up
within. The burning sun
Seemed more
intense. The dust and noise
Of puffing
motors flying past
With rasping
blast of blowing horn
Incensed still
more the whining nerves,
The fabled last
back-breaking straw
To weary,
troubled, fretting mind.
"Ah, yes,
'twill break and crush my life;
I cannot bear
this constant strain
Of endless,
aggravating cares;
They are too
great for such as I."
So thus my
heart condoled itself,
"Enjoying
misery," when lo!
A "still
small voice" distinctly said,
"Twas sent to lift you━not to
crush."
I saw at once
my great mistake.
My place was
not beneath the load
But on the top!
God meant it not
That I should
carry it. He sent
It here to
carry me. Full well
He knew my
incapacity
Before the plan
was made. He saw
A child of His
in need of grace
And power to
serve; a puny twig
Requiring sun
and rain to grow;
An undeveloped
chrysalis;
A weak soul
lacking faith in God.
He could not
help but see all this
And more. And
then, with tender thought
He placed it
where it had to grow━
Or die. To lie
and cringe beneath
One's load
means death, but life and power
Await all those
who dare to rise above.
Our burdens are
our wings; on them
We soar to
higher realms of grace;
Without them we
must roam for aye
On planes of
undeveloped faith,
(For faith
grows but by exercise
In circumstance
impossible).
Oh, paradox of
Heaven. The load
We think will
crush was sent to lift us
Up to God!
Then, soul of mine,
Climb up! for
naught can e'er be crushed
Save what is
underneath the weight.
How may we
climb! By what ascent
Shall we
surmount the carping cares
Of life! Within
His word is found
The key which opes His secret stairs;
Alone with
Christ, secluded there,
We mount our
loads, and rest in Him.
━Miss Mary Butterfield.
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