Sorrowful, Yet Rejoicing

"As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" (2 Cor.
 6:10).

 The stoic scorns to shed a tear; the Christian is not
 forbidden to weep. The soul may be dumb with excessive
 grief, as the shearer's scissors pass over the quivering
 flesh; or, when the heart is on the point of breaking
 beneath the meeting surges of trial, the sufferer may seek
 relief by crying out with a loud voice. But there is
 something even better.

 They say that springs of sweet fresh water well up amid
 the brine of salt seas; that the fairest Alpine flowers bloom
 in the wildest and most rugged mountain passes; that the
 noblest psalms were the outcome of the profoundest agony
 of soul.

 Be it so. And thus amid manifold trials, souls which love
 God will find reasons for bounding, leaping joy. Though
 deep call to deep, yet the Lord's song will be heard in silver
 cadence through the night. And it is possible in the darkest
 hour that ever swept a human life to bless the God and
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Have you learned this
 lesson yet? Not simply to endure God's will, nor only to
 choose it; but to rejoice in it with joy unspeakable and full
 of glory. --Tried as by F ire

 I will be still, my bruised heart faintly murmured,
 As o'er me rolled a crushing load of woe;
 The cry, the call, e'en the low moan was stifled;
 I pressed my lips; I barred the tear drop's flow.

 I will be still, although I cannot see it,
 The love that bares a soul and fans pain's fire;
 That takes away the last sweet drop of solace,
 Breaks the lone harp string, hides Thy precious lyre.

 But God is love, so I will bide me, bide me--
 We'll doubt not, Soul, we will be very still;
 We'll wait till after while, when He shall lift us
 Yes, after while, when it shall be His will.

 And I did listen to my heart's brave promise;
 And I did quiver, struggling to be still;
 And I did lift my tearless eyes to Heaven,
 Repeating ever, "Yea, Christ, have Thy will."

 But soon my heart upspake from 'neath our burden,
 Reproved my tight-drawn lips, my visage sad:
 "We can do more than this, O Soul," it whispered.
 "We can be more than still, we can be glad!"

 And now my heart and I are sweetly singing--
 Singing without the sound of tuneful strings;
 Drinking abundant waters in the desert,
 Crushed, and yet soaring as on eagle's wings.
 --S. P. W.

This devotional is copyrighted material taken from
Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles Cowman.