I pondered......for a day or two......and with everything that's going on in the outside world and in my own little sick world, I, too have questions about believing and what "is to believe"?! But it all goes back to one thing and one thing only....what's inside and what we feel is right in our hearts......By no means am I a bible thumper; however, I am a very big believer of a "Higher Being"......and with that, I had to open my daily devotional this morning. Novermber 11th......I was needing something to help in this week of uncertainty; and I'm not talking about politics or the world economics-I believe that will work out; we have to trust in the "Higher Being"-don't we or don't we?.....And, I guess in this self imposed uncertainty, I was thinking of myself and food for the soul.....I need "maintenance" for my heart and something to keep me going and for some reason.....I'm not getting it.....however; I do find comfort in these words and I hope someone else who reads this may too:
He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass.
Psalm 72:6
Amos speaks of the king's mowings. Our King has many scythes, and is perpetually mowing His lawns. The musical tinkle of the whetstone on the scythe portends the cutting down of myriads of green blades, daisies, and other flowers. Beautiful as they were in the morning, within an hour or two they lie in long, faded rows.
Thus in human life we make a brave show, before the scythe of pain, the shears of disappointment, the sickle of death.
There is no method of obtaining a velvety lawn but by repeated mowings:
And there is no way of developing tenderness, evenness, sympathy, but by the passing of God's scythes. How constantly the Word of God compare man to grass, and His glory to its flower. But when the grass is mown, and all the tender shoots are bleeding, and desolation reigns where flowers were bursting, it is the most acceptable time for showers of rain falling soft and warm.
O soul, thou has been mown! Time after time the King has come to thee with His sharp scythe. Do not dread the scythe-it is sure to be followed by the shower.
F. B. Meyer
1 comment:
Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
R. Burns.
Post a Comment