November 10

I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel."—Luke 7:9.

So great faith—I give thanks, with my Master, that the generation of masterful believers is not yet extinct.

When I ask them about their own souls' life and blessedness, they return me an emphatic reply. It is not that they are only half alive to their personal sinfulness and ill-desert; it is that they set its proper value on the surpassingly marvellous work of Christ their Saviour. They keep contemplating Him, and the mists and shadows roll away.

When I question them about the sublime truths and the arduous requirements of the Word of God, I get a quiet response. Not that they comprehend everything, but they receive willingly what their Lord reveals. Not that they can fulfil anything, but they welcome the Holy Ghost who works in them to will and to do.

When I consult them about the rough places of providence, the winter in their life and mine, they do not attempt to unravel all the problem, but they have their own peace-bringing creed. That pain has its sweet and cleansing uses. That it is an invisible cord drawing the earth-bound heart to God. That the soul is shaped into nobleness on the anvil of grief.

These men and women walk at liberty, in a large room. I ask for my own their thriving and abounding faith. For I am too easily depressed; I am too quickly overturned and put to shame. Let the wind rise, and my heart sinks; whereas I should sing—

"It may blow north, it still is warm;

Or south, it still is clear;

Or east, it smells like a clover farm;

Or west, no thunder fear.'