August 6

"He will keep the feet of His saints."—I SAM. ii. 9.

IT is a promise for the everyday walk of my life—the walk of the soldier who pushes on, whatever enemies hinder his march; the walk of the pilgrim from the City of Destruction to the Celestial City, "conjubilant with song"; the walk of the child in company with his Father, the human hand linked in the divine.

Am I one of His saints? It seems to me often too high a title to claim. But let me remember that everything depends on what my heart is fixed upon. The poet dreams about a masterpiece of music he is yet to write, and the artist about a surpassing picture he will paint one day, and the sculptor about a statue whose grandeur will draw all eyes. What are my dreams? Are they about being liberated from sin, and being changed into the image of Christ, and being holy as God is holy? Then I am among the saints.

And He will keep my feet. Not from the Valley of Humiliation, and the Garden of Sorrow, and the Hill of Cross-bearing. No, but from the companionship that ensnares me. From the cliffs and precipices of sin. From "the delicate plain called Ease." From the High Street of an overweening confidence in myself. From the gloomy mountain-ravines of anxiety and despair. It is a welcome assurance indeed.

God Himself keeps these peril-beset feet of mine—none less than God. He brings many protecting influences into play—His promises, His ringing commandments, the perfect example of Jesus, the influence of those who fear His name, the inner grace of His Holy Spirit. Yes, yes; I walk safely—I walk at liberty—when the charge of my feet is with Him.