October 1

"The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away; but the word of the Lord endureth for ever."—1 Peter 1:24, 25.

THE word of the Lord endureth for ever.

My beliefs about many things change, and it is well sometimes that they should. But not those great and vivifying beliefs to which the gospel introduces me—beliefs with tell me of the all-sufficiency of Jesus Christ, in His redeeming blood, in His Holy Spirit, in His undecaying love, in Himself—my Brother and my God.

My friends alter and pass. But not the Friend of friends to whom the Book leads me—Jesus my Shepherd, my Master, my Dearest and Best. Lo, He is with me all the days, even to the end of the age, and then throughout the limitless eternity on the farther side of death, where "I shall walk in soft white light with kings and priests abroad."

My moods toward Him are fitful and fickle. My love is warm to-day and cold to-morrow. But His mood toward me, as His musical and tender message assures me—ah, it is a constant thing, a mood of grace unutterable, of affection without conclusion and without alloy.

My world passes away. Mox Nox, as the dial in Abbotsford says—The night cometh. But that world of unseen and spiritual realities of which, through this incorruptible seed, He has made me a child: there is no night there, there is no rust in its gold nor canker in its array. Its foundations stand sure. It is an unbeginning, unending, boundless, shoreless world.

I am glad—glad—that the word of my Lord endureth for ever. My green fields grow brown and fruitless, my summer roses die; but falling leaves and revolving seasons only draw me nearer to my centre of rest.