Morning, November 20
“0 Lord, thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul.”
Lamentations 3:58
Charles Spurgeon
Observe how positively the prophet speaks. He doth not say, “I hope, I trust, I sometimes think, that God hath pleaded the causes of my soul”; but he speaks of it as a matter of fact not to be disputed. “Thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul.” Let us, by the aid of the gracious Comforter, shake off those doubts and fears which so much mar our peace and comfort. Be this our prayer, that we may have done with the harsh croaking voice of surmise and suspicion, and may be able to speak with the clear, melodious voice of full assurance. Notice how gratefully the prophet speaks, ascribing all the glory to God alone! You perceive there is not a word concerning himself or his own pleadings. He doth not ascribe his deliverance in any measure to any man, much less to his own merit; but it is “thou”—“O Lord, thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul; thou hast redeemed my life.” A grateful spirit should ever be cultivated by the Christian; and especially after deliverances we should prepare a song for our God. Earth should be a temple filled with the songs of grateful saints, and every day should be a censor smoking with the sweet incense of thanksgiving. How joyful Jeremiah seems to be while he records the Lord’s mercy. How triumphantly he lifts up the strain! He has been in the low dungeon, and is even now no other than the weeping prophet; and yet in the very book which is called “Lamentations,” clear as the song of Miriam when she dashed her fingers against the tabor, shrill as the note of Deborah when she met Barak with shouts of victory, we hear the voice of Jeremy going up to heaven—“Thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul; thou hast redeemed my life.” O children of God, seek after a vital experience of the Lord’s lovingkindness, and when you have it, speak positively of it; sing gratefully; shout triumphantly.
Amazing Grace – Hymn Stories for Daily Devotions
November 20
MY REDEEMER
Philip P. Bliss, 1838–1876
In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. (Ephesians 1:7, 8)
The text for “My Redeemer,” though a joyful note of praise, was found in the wreckage of a train accident which had just claimed the life of its author, Philip P. Bliss.
Philip Bliss was influential in promoting the growth of early gospel hymnody in this country. In addition to being known as a man with a commanding stature and impressive personality for leading congregational singing, Philip Bliss was highly regarded by his fellow colleagues. George Stebbins, also a noted gospel song writer of this time, once paid Bliss this tribute: “There has been no writer of verse since his time who has shown such a grasp of the fundamental truths of the gospel, or such a gift for putting them into poetic and singable form.”
Yet, at the age of 38, at the very height of his fruitful music ministry, Bliss’ life was suddenly ended in a tragic train accident. He had visited his mother at his childhood home in Rome, Pennsylvania, during the Christmas season of 1876 and was returning by train to Chicago on December 29 with his wife Lucy when a railroad bridge near Ashtabula, Ohio, collapsed. Their train plunged into a ravine 60 feet below and caught fire. One hundred passengers perished miserably. Bliss survived the fall and escaped through a window but frantically returned to the wreckage in an attempt to rescue his wife. As a result, he perished with her in the fire. Neither body was ever recovered.
Quite miraculously, however, among Bliss’ belongings in the train wreckage was found a manuscript on which Bliss had been working. It contained these significant words:
I will sing of my Redeemer and His wondrous love to me; on the cruel cross He suffered, from the curse to set me free.
I will tell the wondrous story, how, my lost estate to save, in His boundless love and mercy, He the ransom freely gave.
I will praise my dear Redeemer, His triumphant pow’r I’ll tell, how the victory He giveth over sin and death and hell.
I will sing of my Redeemer and His heav’nly love to me; He from death to life hath bro’t me, Son of God with Him to be.
Chorus: Sing, O sing of my Redeemer; with His blood He purchased me; on the cross He sealed my pardon, paid the debt and made me free.
For Today: Isaiah 53:4–12; 2 Corinthians 2:14, 15; Galatians 2:20
Make this musical truth your desire as you go— p 348
Evening, November 20
“The conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the rocks.”
Proverbs 30:26
Charles Spurgeon
Conscious of their own natural defencelessness, the conies resort to burrows in the rocks, and are secure from their enemies. My heart, be willing to gather a lesson from these feeble folk. Thou art as weak and as exposed to peril as the timid cony, be as wise to seek a shelter. My best security is within the munitions of an immutable Jehovah, where his unalterable promises stand like giant walls of rock. It will be well with thee, my heart, if thou canst always hide thyself in the bulwarks of his glorious attributes, all of which are guarantees of safety for those who put their trust in him. Blessed be the name of the Lord, I have so done, and have found myself like David in Adullam, safe from the cruelty of my enemy; I have not now to find out the blessedness of the man who puts his trust in the Lord, for long ago, when Satan and my sins pursued me, I fled to the cleft of the rock Christ Jesus, and in his riven side I found a delightful resting-place. My heart, run to him anew to-night, whatever thy present grief may be; Jesus feels for thee; Jesus consoles thee; Jesus will help thee. No monarch in his impregnable fortress is more secure than the cony in his rocky burrow. The master of ten thousand chariots is not one whit better protected than the little dweller in the mountain’s cleft. In Jesus the weak are strong, and the defenceless safe; they could not be more strong if they were giants, or more safe if they were in heaven. Faith gives to men on earth the protection of the God of heaven. More they cannot need, and need not wish. The conies cannot build a castle, but they avail themselves of what is there already: I cannot make myself a refuge, but Jesus has provided it, his Father has given it, his Spirit has revealed it, and lo, again to-night I enter it, and am safe from every foe.
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