Streams in the Desert

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 re¬ peated 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 compares man to grass, and His glory to its flower! But when 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.

0 soul, thou hast 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.

"When across the heart deep waves of sorrow Break, as on a dry and barren shore; When hope glistens with no bright tomorrow, And the storm seems sweeping evermore;

"When the cup of every earthly gladness Bears no taste of the life-giving stream; And high hopes, as though to mock our sadness, Fade and die as in some fitful dream,"Who shall hush the weary spirit*s chiding?

Who the aching void within shall fill? Who shall whisper of a peace abiding, And each surging billow calmly still?"Onlu He whose wounded heart was broken With the bitter cross and thorny crown;

Whose dear love glad words of joy had spoken, Who His life for us laid meekly down. Blessed Healer, all our burdens lighten; Give us peace, Thine own sweet peace, we pray t Keep us near Thee till the morn shall brighten, And all the mists and shadows flee away!"

November 12 JD^ u These were the potters, and those that dwelt among plants and hedges: there they dwelt with the king for his work."(1 Chron. 4:23.) NYWHERE and everywhere we may dwell"with the king for his work."We may be in a very unlikely and unfavorable place for this; it may be in a literal country life, with little enough to be seen of the"go¬ ings"of the King around us; it may be among the hedges of all sorts, hindrances in all directions; it may be furthermore, with our hands full of all manner of pottery for our daily task.

No matter! The King who placed us"there"will come and dwell there with us; the hedges are right, or He would soon do away with them. And it does not follow that what seems to hinder our way may not be for its very protection; and as for the pottery, why, that is just exactly what He has seen fit to put into our hands, and therefore it is, for the present,"His work"—Frances Ridley Havergal.

"Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart! Go back till the evening falls. And bind thy lilies and train thy vines. Till for thee the Master calls."Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, Thou workest never alone;

Perhaps he whose plot is next to thine Will see it and mend his own."The colored sunsets and starry heavens, the beautiful moun¬ tains and the shining seas, the fragrant woods and painted flowers, are not half so beautiful as a soul that is serving Jesus out of love, in the wear and tear of common, unpoetic life. — Faber.

The most saintly spirits are often existing in those who have never distinguished themselves as authors, or leiv any memorial of themselves to be the theme of the world's talk; but who.have led an interior angelic life, having borne their sweet blossoms unseen like the young lily in a sequestered vale on the bank of a limpid stream.— Kenelm Dig by.

STREAMS IN THE DESERT