Showing posts with label Oh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oh. Show all posts

Tuesday, 10 May 2011

Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!

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(James Smith, "Good News for All" 1860)

"Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!" Psalm 55:6

The trials of a believer are often severe. Many a storm has he to endure, many a river to ford, and many a fire to pass through--in his way home to the promised land. Little did the Christian think, when he first stepped into the liberty of the gospel--that there were such rough roads, dark nights, and terrible storms before him; but, more or less, every traveler to Mount Zion must experience them. It is generally found to be a rough road, which leads to the celestial city. Many a Christian has found his courage fail him, and his heart misgive him, on his way home.

The darkness is sometimes so dense,
the cross is at times so heavy,
the disappointment is at some seasons so great--
that the stoutest heart quails, and unites with the timid spirit, in exclaiming, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!"

These trials are necessary, to . . .
try our sincerity,
exercise our graces, and
render the promises sweet and precious.

When all goes smooth, and everything is pleasant . . .
we attach but little importance to the promises,
have little power in prayer, and
are too apt to over-value ourselves.
But trying times . . .
endear the throne of grace,
strip us of pride and self-importance,
and strengthen our trust in Jesus.

Never is Christ so precious--as in times of peculiar trial. Never is the Bible so valued--as in the day of trouble and distress. The wilderness with its barren burning sands, its storms and tempests, its dangers and its difficulties--endears the promised land; and makes the pilgrim occasionally to cry out, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!"

Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest--to the weary, way-worn, exhausted traveler! Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest--to the afflicted, tried, and tempted Christian! He most generally thinks of Heaven as a place of rest:
rest from suffering,
rest from sorrow,
rest from toil, and
rest from conflict.

Rest with Jesus.

Rest in the home of God.

Rest, perfect and perpetual rest.

Peaceful and glorious rest.

We have the foretastes of it occasionally now, which makes us at times long for its fullness and perfection. Like the grapes of Eshcol, which when tasted, stimulates us to hasten across the wilderness, that we may take possession of the promised land; so the inward calm, the secret repose, the rest at times enjoyed in the soul--urges us on, and makes us cry out, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!

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~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!

(James Smith, "Good News for All" 1860)

"Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!" Psalm 55:6

The trials of a believer are often severe. Many a storm has he to endure, many a river to ford, and many a fire to pass through--in his way home to the promised land. Little did the Christian think, when he first stepped into the liberty of the gospel--that there were such rough roads, dark nights, and terrible storms before him; but, more or less, every traveler to Mount Zion must experience them. It is generally found to be a rough road, which leads to the celestial city. Many a Christian has found his courage fail him, and his heart misgive him, on his way home.

The darkness is sometimes so dense,
the cross is at times so heavy,
the disappointment is at some seasons so great--
that the stoutest heart quails, and unites with the timid spirit, in exclaiming, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!"

These trials are necessary, to . . .
try our sincerity,
exercise our graces, and
render the promises sweet and precious.

When all goes smooth, and everything is pleasant . . .
we attach but little importance to the promises,
have little power in prayer, and
are too apt to over-value ourselves.
But trying times . . .
endear the throne of grace,
strip us of pride and self-importance,
and strengthen our trust in Jesus.

Never is Christ so precious--as in times of peculiar trial. Never is the Bible so valued--as in the day of trouble and distress. The wilderness with its barren burning sands, its storms and tempests, its dangers and its difficulties--endears the promised land; and makes the pilgrim occasionally to cry out, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!"

Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest--to the weary, way-worn, exhausted traveler! Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest--to the afflicted, tried, and tempted Christian! He most generally thinks of Heaven as a place of rest:
rest from suffering,
rest from sorrow,
rest from toil, and
rest from conflict.

Rest with Jesus.

Rest in the home of God.

Rest, perfect and perpetual rest.

Peaceful and glorious rest.

We have the foretastes of it occasionally now, which makes us at times long for its fullness and perfection. Like the grapes of Eshcol, which when tasted, stimulates us to hasten across the wilderness, that we may take possession of the promised land; so the inward calm, the secret repose, the rest at times enjoyed in the soul--urges us on, and makes us cry out, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!

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Sunday, 28 November 2010

Oh, this is a sad sight!

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(Ashton Oxenden, "A Happy Old Age" 1870)

One would think that the longer a person lived--the more willing he would be to leave his present earthly abode. But this is not always the case.

Sometimes, alas! we see very aged people clinging to this world even more tightly than the young. We see them close to the grave's mouth--and yet loving the riches, the pleasures, the trifles of this world--with all their affections! Oh, this is a sad sight! It is sad to see a poor dying creature entering upon a solemn eternity--with a heart glued to the world which he is leaving, and full of its concerns!

When this is the case with a Christian--God often in mercy sends us some affliction. He withers our gourds which have grown up around us, that He may lead us to seek a truer and a safer shelter. He sees that we are too fond of these clay cottages of ours; so He makes the walls to crumble, that we may be content to leave them at His call.

Look at your growing infirmities, dear reader--as so many mercies. Let them serve to remind you that you will not be here always, and that this world "is not your rest, because it is polluted!" Let your growing infirmities make you long for that happier land, where there shall be no more old age--where sorrow and sighing shall be unknown--and where "the inhabitant shall never say, I am sick."

Oh, it is well for us that all is not health, and strength, and sunshine here--else we would be even fonder than we are, of our present earthly home.

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