NOVEMBER 23

 

Ye have need of patience [cheerful endurance, constancy] that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise—Heb. 10: 36.

 

Here we see that it is not merely to do the will of God that is the test, but that after having attained to that point, that mark of character in our hearts, in our wills (if only partially in the flesh), we should, by patient endurance, establish God's righteous will as the law of our hearts, the rule of life under all circumstances and conditions. Then, and not until then, will we be in the heart condition of fitness for the Kingdom. The Apostle James says, "The trying of your faith worketh patience [patient endurance]"; that is to say, if our faith stands the trial, it will work this character of patient endurance. Of course, on the other hand, if we do not attain to patient endurance, it will mean that our faith has not stood the test satisfactorily, that we are not fit for the Kingdom.

 

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By patience the Bible does not mean merely long-suffering, but that perseverance, steadfastness, constancy, which cheerfully endures obstacles in the way of pressing on in well-doing. By doing the will of God the Apostle seems to mean, developing love until we attain the mark; for the sum of God's will for us, the end of the commandment, is love from a pure heart, from a good conscience and from a faith unfeigned. After we have attained such a degree of love, the one thing necessary is to press on therein perseveringly, in cheerful endurance of every obstacle in the way of our acting out its dictates. This will ultimately make us conquerors, and thus insure our inheriting all the blessings in the Oath-bound promise to the seed of Abraham.

 

Parallel passages: Luke 8: 15; 21: 19; Gal. 6: 9; Heb. 12: 1; Jas. 1: 3, 4; 5: 7, 8; Rom. 2: 7; 5: 3, 4; 8: 25, 35-39; 15: 4, 5; Eph. 6: 8; Col. 3: 24; Heb. 6: 12, 15; 1Pet. 2: 19-23; Rev. 1: 9; 13: 10.

 

Questions: Have I this week been patient in doing God's will? How? Why? With what results?

 

THE SWEET-BRIER ROSE

 

BESIDE my cottage door it grows,

The loveliest, daintiest flower that blows,

A sweet-brier rose.

 

At dewy morn or twilight's close,

The rarest perfume from it flows,—

This strange, wild rose.

 

But when the raindrops on it beat,

Ah, then its odors grow more sweet

About my feet!

 

Ofttimes with loving tenderness

Its soft green leaves I gently press

In sweet caress,—

 

A still more wondrous fragrance flows,

The more my fingers firmly close,

And crush the rose!

 

*   *   *

 

Dear Lord, oh, let my life be so,—

Its perfume when the tempests blow,

The sweeter flow!

 

And should it be Thy blessed will

With crushing grief my soul to fill,

Press harder still,

 

And while its dying fragrance flows,

I'll whisper low, "He loves and knows

His crushed brier-rose."

 

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