King's Business - 1915-02



chary and canny do we get in the use of the possessive pronouns, “my, mine, thy, thine, etc., etc.” Experi­ ence has taught us this one thing, hasn’t it? to be slow to ticket our goods. “My ship,” would the mer­ chant say, and sit and day dream of the rich cargo of coffer filling treas­ ure from “the Indies of the blest.” God listens to the foolhardy boast and He “hisses” for another world- laden vessel to creep silently through the gathering fog, and the two cross at the same point at the same time, and with the crashing, splintering bows of awful collision, they plunge with their precious all to the bottom of the deep. Never, you merchant, say “mine” again! “My bank bal­ ance,” and the columns of an eager addition are run up, and the eye glis­ tens at the sum-total of clinking gold­ en coin. Whispering to-day on the Stock Exchange! Hearts standing still and faces pallid with fear! Oh, what has happened? The City of Glasgow Bank is down! Ah! never say “mine” again. “My boy,” and you stroke the yellow curls over th< wee white brow, and you mirror yourself in the laughing blue eyes, and you touch the pouting little lips, and you clasp your bonnie treasure to your loving breast. My dear, dear sonnie! Hush in the nursery! no little feet pattering! no prattling laugh like the summer hrook’s now! A little coffin has been carried from the house, and you sit in the silence with a breaking heart. “An art thou awa’ and awa’ for ever? That little form, that tender frame, That voice which first in sweetest accents Called me the mother’s thrilling name?” Ay, “awa’ for ever!” Never say “my boy” again. He is not yours; he is God’s, and oh! for God’s sake, take care of the loan. “My crops,” and the sun burns them, and the rain

its soft, clinging veil over the sad decay. You cannot with all your ef­ forts spell out the sleeper’s name. Ah, vain seal! cynical, sarcastic words, “to the memory of!” Ye have let slip the charge ye have sworn to keep! The name is gone forever. Yes, inscription powerless, empty, boasting, passing! This is when man’s chisel has scraped over the tablet; but let God’s finger write as The Ten Words were written on Sinai, and the “Tables of Stone” will break, and the fragments fade and decay, but that writing, never! What He hath written, He hath written. Yes; and on this great eter­ nity building of a faith-finishing soul God has stamped His personal seal. On its portals are the “armorial bear­ ings” of Heaven. Here Jehovah has carved His own crest, has engraved with His own Hand His own great Name. The “process of the suns” can bring no obliteration to this. Be­ yond the wear and tear of cruel- teethed Time, beyond the weathering and crumbling of the earthly atmos­ phere, above wind and mist and rain and storm, the inscription will never be blotted out. “All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof fadeth away; bui the word of the Lord endureth for­ ever.” Oh, come nigh, then, believ­ er, and read this God-written inscrip­ tion. For you it is; on you it is. Two lines—as if in no heedless one- line postcard hurry—have been carved by God. Surely He is interested in His own MSS.; be you interested and comforted now. “The founda­ tion of God standeth sure, having this seal.” i. “The Lord knoweth them that are His.” Brethren, the longer you and I live in this everchanging world, the more

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