July 31
Rest Through His Sorrow
In the Hour of Silence"Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone that believeth."—Romans 10:4.
CHRIST is the object of my faith—Christ in all the aspects of His many-coloured perfection. My Teacher, my Redeemer, my Intercessor, my Good Shepherd, my Master and Captain: never had any monarch such a palace as I have in Him. Not Solomon, though he was thirteen years building his stately home. Not Nero in his Golden House on the Palatine Hill. Not the Moorish princes in their beautiful Alhambra in Granada. More than all in Christ I find.
But St. Paul does well to make particular mention of His obedience and sacrifice, as that on which my faith rests with special satisfaction and delight. He is the end of the law unto righteousness to me who believe.
When the eyes of my understanding, blinded too long, are opened at last; when I know myself for what I am, poor and wretched and deserving to die; when I feel that I stand a culprit and a criminal at the bar of a holy God, and that I cannot answer Him for the least and smallest of my transgressions: my chief necessity is a righteousness that will cover and justify me. I have none of my own. Earth in its length and breadth can furnish me with none. But Jesus presents Himself to me when my heart and flesh fail. He offers me His. There is no spot in it; and my faith, conscious that I am derelict and smitten with yearning for Him, says, Give me that, for there is none like it.
Naked, I clothe myself in this heavenly dress. And God Himself is well pleased. I am His Red Cross knight to-day, and the shield which is my shelter is made of one Diamond, "perfect, pure, and clean."
August.
WHEN I SEE THE STAR, I REJOICE.
I've seen Thy star in the morning,
When I ran with childish feet
Through the misty, dewy meadows.
O the early flowers were sweet!
I've walked in Thy sun at noontide,
When my heart was young and strong;
I've pressed the flowers to my bosom.
O life was a glad sweet song!
I creep to Thy shade at even;
I am weary now and worn;
I would rest me in Thy twilight.
O life has many a thorn!
I will rest me till Thy daybreak,
Till again my waking eyes
Shall see Thy star in the morning—
I shall see it and arise.
MARGARET M. RANKIN.