Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me To

Heaven Is The Day Of Which Grace Is The Dawn; The Rich, Ripe Fruit Of Which Grace Is The Lovely Flower; The Inner Shrine Of That Most Glorious Temple To Which Grace Forms The Approach And Outer Court.

The More The Diamond Is Cut The Brighter It Sparkles; And In What Seems Hard Dealing, There God Has No End In View But To Perfect His People.

Perhaps God Does With His Heavenly Garden As We Do With Our Own. He May Chiefly Stock It From Nurseries, And Select For Transplanting What Is Yet In Its Young And Tender Age--flowers Before They Have Bloomed And Trees Ere They Begin To Bear.

The Finest Flowers Of Genius Have Grown In An Atmosphere Where Those Of Nature Are Prone To Droop, And Difficult To Bring To Maturity.

Time That Weakens All Things Else Has But Strengthened The Impregnable Position Of The Believer's Faith And Hope And Confidence. And As, Year By Year, The Tree Adds Another Ring To Its Circumference, Every Age Has Added The Testimony Of Its Events To This Great Truth. "the Grass Withereth, And The Flower Fadeth, But The Word Of The Lord Shall Endure Forever.