OH the rest that awaits the loved ones below,
From care and from sorrow, from toil and from woe;
To bask in the sunshine of the glory above,
Where Christ is the center and sum of all love.
The thought of such love is the pilgrim's delight,
With the armor of God he fights the good fight,
And presses with zeal and full purpose of heart
, From the start to the goal, with Christ to have part.
From this scene of rejection, the one which He trod,
To the realms of bliss in the presence of God;
With Christ, and he like Him, His glory to share,
0 God of all comfort, what with this can compare?
To think of such rest is the spirit's delight;
Afresh, love is kindled the heart to incite
To glorify Him whom we're waiting to see,
And look for His promise, " I'll come unto thee."
All scorn and reproach, how they vanish away
At the hope of His coming, the heart's only stay,
As our souls mount on wings, to His glory above,
As we dwell in the rest we find in His love.
C. A. C.
I FOLLOW with sympathy, with an associated heart, all the path of Jesus by the Holy Ghost, in meek, lowly, devotedness to God. I ought to follow actually, even to Laying down my life for the brethren. Having Him as my life, I can feel with Him, however infinitely more perfect He may be. I may present my body a living-sacrifice: my heart goes with Him, however poorly I follow; even in Gethsemane I ought to watch with Him. But when dealt with by God, and I speak only of the burnt-offering, where the fire of the altar tested all fully (which is not merely offering Himself, but what met Him to test the perfectness of the offering), then I only look on and adore. I bow my head and adore. J. N. D
(Continued from page 51.)