Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

very much in earnest, who are longing to be useful, who are saying, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Lord, give me some work for Thee." They do not choose for themselves what it shall be; they are not anxious to have it easy, or pleasant, or profitable; it is enough for them that it is His. And yet they stand and do nothing, but pray and long. If the Master speaks to them, surely He says, "Why stand ye here all the day idle?" There is plenty of work waiting to be done, only they cannot see it; they have need to pray, "Lord, that I may receive my sight."

If they had sight, such as all who aspire to work in the Lord's vineyard should have, they would see about them in their homes, around them in the streets and alleys, those who need them. If we could speak to these young workers we would say, Oh, lose no time, ask Him who is the source of all wisdom to open your eyes, that you may see the tasks which He has prepared. And do not strain your eyes for the distant view, and overlook the near. Here, where you are now, where your life is passed, there is work. You are needed. Use your eyes and your hands for Him. Remember what He said, "As My Father hath sent Me, even so send I you." You are to be in your family, among your friends, at your work, and in the world, what He was. And this revelation of Him among men will be the means of doing more than you could imagine to promote the kingdom of the Lord Jesus.

May we all have eyes to see, and hearts to understand, and hands to perform His will. May this life, among whose busy scenes we have entered, be filled with good and successful labour for the Master. And that we may let no important work remain undone, because we do not see it, let us pray, "Lord, that we may receive our sight."

Our Teachers.

Ir is rather an unfortunate thing to be a learner just now. Solomon says, "In the multitude of counsellors there is safety." There is also great bewilderment. Of course it

is better to be safe, though puzzled, than to be left to our own ignorance and devices, and the same wise man says, "Where no counsel is, the people fail." But still, it is rather difficult to be taught when everybody is teaching at once. Time has been when wisdom dwelt with instructors, who were few, and modesty with the instructed, who were many, but now, whatever may have become of the wisdom, learners are few and hard to find, and the teachers are increased a hundred fold. And we can scarcely wonder at that, for people naturally choose the easier and the pleasanter occupation; and though it may need great gifts to make good teachers, greater gifts still are needed to make good learners. And who is going to sit at another's feet, when there is a chance of his getting somebody to sit at his own?

Still, there are, happily for the world, if unhappily for themselves, a few learners left. If we listen very intently, we may catch, during the pauses of the general clamour, a half-stifled, but struggling cry or two-" Lighten our darkness." "What is truth?" "Who will show us any good?" And by this we know that there is still a remnant of those who are willing to be taught, and are eager to be scholars that they may be rightly educated. They have not yet been able to deceive themselves, and are less selfcomplacent than their fellows in consequence. They cannot persuade themselves that they are on the top of the ladder, and, therefore, entitled to cry, "Come up," to others, because they know that at present they are only upon the very lowest rung. The shadows are so thick about them, and unfortunately they realise these shadows so strongly, that it has not occurred to them to declare with loud voice and assurance that they are in the broad light of the day. They know themselves, and, therefore, are content to be merely searchers, and so they lift up their timid voices of inquiry if haply some might bear an

answer.

And then? Then begins their trouble. Then indeed they need steady heads, wonderful ears, and not too sensitive hearts. For they have scarcely expressed their desire for instruction before a thousand voices are raised at once, and they are absolutely pelted with wise words. They want light, do they? Then they shall be dazzled

with skyrockets. Then they shall be surrounded by them. They want to know what is right and what is truth, and there are plenty to tell them. They shall be inundated with floods of it; and, indeed, if they are not good swimmers, they shall be absolutely drowned in it.

A learner, pure and simple, is a blessing unto many. Let him but express his doubts, and he sees what joy he has created among multitudes. Eyes grow bright, voices are raised, and an army of pens prepare to instruct him. He is attacked from all quarters, and all are eager to tell him what he ought to know. Everybody, indeed, is happy but himself. As for him, he probably experiences the sensations of a feather between several currents of wind. He is blown up and down, and round and round, east, west, north, and south. What can he do? By dint of wonderful power, he separates one voice from the others, and listens to it. It seems to be a voice of wisdom; and he carefully treasures up its directions, and prepares to act upon it. And then, with a feeling of relief, he allows himself to listen to another. And as soon as he does so, the seeker after knowledge is warned and convinced that the first teacher was wrong, and the only thing to save him is to listen to the new-comer. With patient regret for lost time, he does his best to unlearn the wrong and study the right. But before he has reached any state of efficiency, a new light bursts upon him, and he sees that that also has been a mistake. Poor scholar, what sinkings of heart, and aching of head, and general bewilderment is his portion! It is little wonder, and he is not so much to blame, if, in desperate need of a haven of some kind, he catches hold of a little bit of something, and so resolves to leave the poor persecuted minority of learners, and join the great majority of teachers.

The worst of it is, that, every single soldier in this wonderful army is fighting in a different way, and for a different end. Each speaker in the bewildering chorus of "I am right, I have the Truth," means something different from his brother. Who shall decide between them? Who shall show us what is really wisdom?

There seems but one safe thing to do. There is a Teacher who does know everything, and to Him may all learners go. "That which I see not, teach Thou me.'

Promises.

IN the spring we can see and hear an abundance of promises. The land is full of them. Wherever we lift our eyes we can see the old familiar characters which delighted our childhood, but which are just as full of joy for us to-day as they were then, and which tell us the same prophetic story of beauty and delight. Perhaps there are few days that so touch our hearts as the bright February ones; and may not the reason be that they convey to us so many promises which are certain to be kept? Although we have not ceased to look for the storm and cold of winter, though every morning before the sun has lighted the earth we feel constrained to brace ourselves up for a possible display of frost and snow, still we cannot walk abroad without seeing the promise of far different scenes. Everywhere our eyes are gladdened by multitudes of bursting buds, and young tender leaves. Down among the withered stems of the last year there is fresh young life, a brighter green, a more vivid beauty. Modest, nestling violets, quite hidden away in their warm beds of old and young leaves, cannot help betraying their whereabouts by their own tell-tale sweetness. Timid and fragile primroses are lifting their pale faces to the greeting of the generous sun. Daisies are opening their eyes, and the celandines have been already a long time awake. Delicate snowdrops and golden crocuses, and dozens of other flowers, beautify our gardens. The hedges are covered with constantly-growing buds of beauties yet to be. There are signs of life upon the trees. The elms are rich in clusters of blossoms, and the willows have hung out a host of floating banners to welcome the approach of spring. Everywhere, among the insects, and the birds, and the winds, and, better still, in our own hearts, an anticipatory joy is arousing us, and we eagerly receive and welcome the promises of the spring.

Because we know they will be kept. We are trusting to what has never betrayed our trust, we are looking for what we are certain to see. We may have fits of temporary despondency and impatience; we may even say, "If the

things really intend to grow, why do they not move on more rapidly?" But in our sane and sober moments we rely without hesitation upon the promises. We shall soon walk down forest paths over yielding mosses, while a thousand blossoms spring about us, and the air is full of the strange sweetness of pines and ferns and innumerable wild flowers, and musical with wonderful nightingales' songs among the cool shades of a million of leaves. We take the promises and believe in them, and show that we believe in them by watching for the signs of their fulfilment; for the fact is, all these things are God's promises of yet greater joy to His children, and we never, never knew one word of His to fail.

There are plenty of other promises that people find it harder to believe in. The promises of youth are sweeter than any indications of spring. We see bright young faces constantly rippling over with laughter, but we cannot fathom the fountain beneath. We look into clear, bright eyes, but we cannot see through into the hearts. If we could, we should find an immense amount of faith in the promises which the young have seen and heard. They are just beginning to taste the marvellous sweetness of life. Joys, deeper and more worthy than anything they have dreamed of before, are opening to them; and as they take them half-timidly a voice within says, "These are only earnests; look for more down the vista of the years that are to be. Fresh flowers will bloom, new fruits ripen, and the way shall be still sunny." Is the promise credited? Certainly it is by the young.

But others say, "No. You have the best now; there is nothing more to look forward to. The spring of February is the only one for any; and the voice in your heart is a false prophet."

Are we sure of that? May it not rather be the voice of the Father in heaven, whose very name is Love? Why are we so continually damping young joy by saying that the promise will not be kept? In our own case the voice that promised us long years of happiness has not really failed. Spring came, and summer, and autumn, each more glorious than the other. And even with all our tendencies to grumbling we dare not say other than "Thou hast done well with Thy servant." There failed not aught of any

1

« ForrigeFortsæt »