Evening and Morning
By Charles Haddon Spurgeon
January 29
Morning
"The things which are not seen."—2 Corinthians 4:18.
In our
Christian pilgrimage it is well, for the most part, to be looking forward.
Forward lies the crown, and onward is the goal. Whether it be for hope, for
joy, for consolation, or for the inspiring of our love, the future must, after
all, be the grand object of the eye of faith. Looking into the future we see
sin cast out, the body of sin and death destroyed, the soul made perfect, and
fit to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light. Looking further
yet, the believer's enlightened eye can see death's river passed, the gloomy
stream forded, and the hills of light attained on which standeth
the celestial city; he seeth himself enter within the
pearly gates, hailed as more than conqueror, crowned by the hand of Christ, embraced
in the arms of Jesus, glorified with Him, and made to sit together with Him on
His throne, even as He has overcome and has sat down with the Father on His
throne. The thought of this future may well relieve the darkness of the past
and the gloom of the present. The joys of heaven will surely compensate for the
sorrows of earth. Hush, hush, my doubts! death is but
a narrow stream, and thou shalt soon have forded it. Time, how
short—eternity, how long! Death, how brief—immortality, how
endless! Methinks I even now eat of Eshcol's
clusters, and sip of the well which is within the gate. The road is so, so
short! I shall soon be there.
"When
the world my heart is rending
With its
heaviest storm of care,
My glad
thoughts to heaven ascending,
Find a refuge
from despair.
Faith's
bright vision shall sustain me
Till life's
pilgrimage is past;
Fears may vex
and troubles pain me,
I shall reach
my home at last."
Evening
"The
dove came in to him in the evening."—Genesis 8:11.
Blessed be the Lord for
another day of mercy, even though I am now weary with its toils. Unto the
preserver of men lift I my song of gratitude. The dove found no rest out of the
ark, and therefore returned to it; and my soul has learned yet more fully than
ever, this day, that there is no satisfaction to be found in earthly
things—God alone can give rest to my spirit. As to my business, my
possessions, my family, my attainments, these are all well enough in their way,
but they cannot fulfil the desires of my immortal nature.
"Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with
thee." It was at the still hour, when the gates of the day were closing,
that with weary wing the dove came back to the master: O Lord, enable me this
evening thus to return to Jesus. She could not endure to spend a night hovering
over the restless waste, not can I bear to be even for another hour away from
Jesus, the rest of my heart, the home of my spirit. She did not merely alight
upon the roof of the ark, she "came in to him;" even so would my
longing spirit look into the secret of the Lord, pierce to the interior of
truth, enter into that which is within the veil, and reach to my Beloved in
very deed. To Jesus must I come: short of the nearest and dearest intercourse
with Him my panting spirit cannot stay. Blessed Lord Jesus, be with me, reveal
Thyself, and abide with me all night, so that when I awake I may be still with
thee. I note that the dove brought in her mouth an olive branch plucked off,
the memorial of the past day, and a prophecy of the future. Have I no pleasing
record to bring home? No pledge and earnest of lovingkindness
yet to come? Yes, my Lord, I present Thee my grateful acknowledgments for
tender mercies which have been new every morning and
fresh every evening; and now, I pray Thee, put forth Thy hand and take Thy dove
into Thy bosom.