THE GARLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3443, 9 March 1920, Page 61

THE GARLAND.

FOR THE QUIET HOUR. No. 341. By Dunoan Weight, Dunedin. REST. Made, for Thyself, O God'l Made for Thy love, Thy service, Thy delight; Made to show forth Thy wisdom, grace, and might; 1 Made for Thy praise, whom veiled archangels laud; Oh, strange and glorious thought, that we may be A joy to Thee! Yet the heart turns away From this grand destiny of bliss, and deems 'Twas made for its poor self, fox passing dreams, Chasing; illusions, melting day by day; Till for ourselves we read on this world s best, '• This is not rest! Nor- can the vain toil cease, Till in the shadowy maze of life we meet One who can guide our aching wayward feet To find Himself, our Way, our Life, our Peace: In Him the long unrest is soothed and stil'ed; Our hearts are filled. 0 rest, so true, so sweet! (Would it were shared by all the weary world!) 'Neath shadowing-banner of His love unfurled, We bend to kiss the Master's pierced feet; Then lean our love upon His loving breast, And know God's rest. —Frances R. Havergal. "The desire of rest planted in the heart is no sensual, no unworthy one; but a longing for renovation, and Jor escape from a state where every phase is mere preparation for another equally transitory, to one in which permanence becomes possible through perfection. Hence the great call of Christ to. men—that, call on which St. Augustine fixed as the essential expression of Christian hope—--is accompanied by the- promise of rest; and the death bequest of Christ to men is peace."—Ruskin. "On a stone at the J>op of the pass of Glencoe, in Scotland (writes J. G. Pilkington) there are inscribed words that have given point to. the oratory of a veteran English statesman :—' 'Rest and be thankful." Here in this life we are ever pursuing rest in 1 our several fashions, and when that on which we have set our hearts becomes our own, we find ourselves still unsatisfied. This is God's ordinance. He has made the soul so that it shall not rest or be. fully filled out of Him. St. Augustine found this. After giving himself without stint to the pursuit of the world's pleasures,, he, when he was converted, began his confessions with the words, "0 Lord, thou has formed, us for Thy Self, and bur hearts are restless till they find rest in Theo." The heart that seeks happiness in grandeur, beauty, lore, Must leave them all in turn, like one that begs from door to door. Oh, but he walks a weary round, and follows a sad dance! 1 reach my home a nearer road, and go to God at once. > ■ Tho' grateful for the Her moil drops earth's humble sky may shed, • I bear the flagons of my soul to the great Fountain head:. Care, stalking o'er our hearts, may leave full many a deep foot-print, But with His overflowing grace my Lord fills every dint. Sweetness of rest, when Thou sheddest rest, Sweetness of patience till then; Only the will of our God is best For all the millions of men. —Rossetti. The Rev. Ebenzer Erskine died 1754, aged 73. During his last illness, a friend calling on him said : ' 'Sir, you have given us many good advices, pray what are you now doing with your own soul?" "I am doing with it," said he, "what I did forty years ago; I am resting upon that word, 'I am the Lord thy God,' and on this I mean to die." To another he said, "The covenant is my charter, and if it had not been for that blessed word, 'I am the Lord thy God,' my hope and strength had perished from the Lord." The night on which he died his eldest -daughter was reading in the room where he was, to whom he said, "What book is that you are reading, my dear?" "It is," she said, "one of vour sermons, on that text 'I am the Lord thy God.' " "0 my child," said he, "that is the best sermon I ever preached." And it was probably the best to his own soul.

It is here, and here only, that a man can say, lam satisfied, it is enough. Nero, Xerxes, and others, proposed rewards for those who could invent new pleasures. But it is not so with the Christian. He is already receiving from the fountain head, and even under all the vicissitudes of life, and its endless trials, can often rejoice with a joy unspeakable and full of glory. Dryden said he was contented when sitting under the statue of Shakespeare, and Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, looked upon himself as happy while sitting at the feet of Sir Isaac Newton. Much more may a Christian rejoice in the presence of Him whose favour is life."— < Anon.

WEARY! By I#oui«? A. Robertson. Not as a means of grace And hope of glory—Not Bui could I see Thy face, And hear the blessing flow; A? when Thy living Lips the promise poured, Then would I kneel and wait for mercy, Lord. "Ye weary come to Me And I will give you rest," BJave I not hint the knee, And all my soul confessed? Art Than a myth, O God, or am I blind— Groping in gloom, for peace I cannot find?

Oh! shed on beam of light, And when my flesh is wrung Thro' agony's long night—. When all my life is hung On Retrospection's cross, and when the spead Of Conscience strikes my soul, then be Thou near. N Whisper one word of hope, That my faint 'heart miay know How with these fears to cope, And • respite gain . from woe; Bind up my wounds, and pour the healing balm Of one kind word, to comfort to calm. Not for a heaven unearned, \ Nor to escape a hell, My lips have often burned To drink of mercy's well; Yearning—in that sweet flood—themselves to steep, And drift away from life in dreamless sleep. REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER bag a message on "Soul Rest" so reliant and helpful that I transcribe right here what may be called, the best sentences: .. . . "When our Master says to men and women who are weary and heavy laden 'Come unto Me, and I will give you rest,' He strikes that one single note, that blessed chord which has vibrated through the ages. For, by faith in this promise, how did the Apostles themselves live, men of mighty suffering and mighty joy! There is not so great a marvel in human literature as the New Testament, which is a recital of persecution and, disaster and death and suffering; and yet there is not a morbid word in it. There is not a minor note. It is the most triumphant'Book in the world. " You may try to push out John from having Written a Gospel; you may say that Matthew was not a Matthew, that Luke was not a Luke, and that none of them was inspired; but I say there is not on the earth, and there never has been, a book so in sympathy with men's weaknesses and sufferings and sorrows, <*r a book that threw such light and hope on them all, and pousred such balm and precious ointment on every wound of human life as the New Testament. There is the book; and it will live as long as the world has a groan in it; as long as there is a sorrow to be assuaged; as long as there is a weakness to be strengthened; as long as there is an aspiration to be developed; as long as there is a manhood to be unfolded. To all you who are walking in the way of the old saints, I say, "Be noi surprised at the fiery trial that has come upon you. Do not count it strange. Do you shed tears in secret places? Millions have done so before you Who now laugh in heaven. Do you mourn in desolated households? Blushing .are the flowers of those who planted seeds in darkness and night. Does it seem to you that your burdens are heavier than you can bear? Down through the ages the voice of Jesus and of God Himself sounds. out to men in dungeons, in the wilderness, in places of torment and torture, 'COME UNTO ME'; and down through the ages and through the clear air of this Sabbath morning, not as thunder, but as a sweet voice full of sympathy, comes the message, 'All ye that are heavy laden come unto Me.' v ■ "The heart of Christ is a haven large enough to give anchorage to every craft that sails on the stormy sea of life. The soul of Jesus is rich enough, and full of gentleness and sympathy to supply the 'want of the whole created universe. Come, taste and see that He is gracious; and by the power of faith and love lift yourselves higher into that nobler manhood out of which comes immortality." REST IN THE LORD. (By Margaret E. Sangster.) Is there a storm in the cloud, is there gloom in the aky ? O rest in the Lord, till the tempests pass.by, He is pledged to defend thee, His might is thy shield, Trust all to the love in thy Saviour revealed. Is the path of thy feet thick with brier and thorn? Do hindrances meet thee at eve and at morn ? And oft art thou weary, as oft are dismayed, 0 rest in the Lord, nor be weakly afraid. O rest in the Lord, wherefore struggle in vain, And fret like a captive who tugs at a chain; 'Tis resting, not toiling, He gives thee to-day, 'Tis waiting, not weeping, 0 hear and) obey. Dear child of thy Father in heaven, be sure, Whatever He sends He will hero thee endure; And in the hereafter thine eyes shall behold Himself in the light of the city of gold. Then sight shall be thine, where to-day thou hast faith And fulness of vision, for so the Word saith; But oh, 'tis so sweet, here to trust in His love: What wisdom may reckon the treasure above!