By the Editor
The Morning Cometh
THIS world is a scene of darkness and of death; a scene made dark and dead by sin; where Satan reigns and the rivers of evil flow. And amid this darkness and death I seem to hear around me the laugh of the mocker, asking the sneering question, “Watchman, what of the night?” What is the answer of the Watchman to the scoffer’s question? “The morning cometh,” Yes, the morning cometh. The children of the day watch for the morning light to shine—the Morning Star to appear. There is a dawning on the hills of faith that tells of coming day, and music thrilling from harps unseen that blends with the music in hearts on earth that long for the coming day. The morning cometh. We watch and wait. The peace of the morning has shone into our hearts, and the promise of it cheers our souls. This is how the morning came with its blessed peace to one passing through a night of suffering. A young girl is dying in a hospital ward. A lady bends over her, and says, “Will you tell me your name, dear?” “Agnes,” she replied. “You have listened to a sweeter voice than mine?” “Yes,” she softly said, “here in this bed He met me, my loving Saviour, in the night, four months ago. He came and spoke peace to my soul. He saw me suffering, and He spoke to me, and I am going to be with Himself.”
The next day the lady came and found: the girl dying. She knelt by the bed, and put her ear close to her mouth and heard her whisper, “He gave me peace! perfect peace! abiding peace! Soon I shall have everlasting peace with Him.” And so she passed away. The morning had come after the night of pain.
I remember a night when I could not sleep. I was restless, weary, and depressed. The shadows of the night seemed to have fallen about my heart. I rose from my bed, and opening my window stood to watch the coming of the morning. I saw the first gleam of the dawn shine in the sky. There were no sounds of man to be heard, but the breath of the young day kissed my cheek, and from the trees I heard the martin song of the feathered choir. And as I gazed at the growing brightness, and listened to the melodious music, the peace of the morning seemed to fill my heart, and when I knelt to pray my soul was eased. I thought a bright morning is coming, a “morning without clouds.” I shall be glad to see that morning, whether I behold it through the gates of death, or when my Saviour calls me home. Oh! hasten, blessed time!
Yesterday I was cheered and comforted by some lines hiss Leakey read to me. I told her of their beauty, and today she placed in my hand the following: ―
A Precious Gem
A lovely little poem was sent me this morning. After rapturously enjoying it myself, I thought I would read it to Dr. Wreford. He said, “Why, it is a precious gem.” “Why?” “Why! because it speaks an unerring truth that the ‘presence of Jesus’ is worth all. The rest of a heart that in His heart reposes!” Yes, dear reader, get the Lord Jesus dwelling in your heart and you will have a joy that no one can take from you. Here is this lovely poem by Minnie Hardwick. I am sure she will not mind it being printed again.
Emily P. Leakey