G.o.d grant that these chapters, written in weakness, may yet do something towards moving the Church to such prayer that the answer will be, as once before, that an angel will be sent to open the doors of the prison-house!
The frontispiece shows the rock to which we go sometimes when we feel the need of a climb and a blow. It is a.s.sociated in our minds with a story:--"Between the pa.s.sages by which Jonathan sought to go over unto the Philistines" garrison there was a sharp rock on the one side and a sharp rock on the other side. . . . And Jonathan said to the young man that bare his armour: "Come and let us go over unto the garrison of these uncirc.u.mcised: it may be that the Lord will work for us: for there is no restraint to the Lord to save by many or by few." And his armour-bearer said unto him: "Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee, behold I am with thee according to thy heart.""
We have a rock to climb, and there is nothing the least romantic about it. We shall have to climb it "upon our hands and upon our feet."
It is all grim earnest. "We make our way wrapped in glamour to the Supreme Good, the summit," writes Guido Rey, the mountaineer, in the joy of his heart. But later it is: "One precipice fell away at my feet, and another rose above me. . . . It was no place for singing." Friends, we shall come to such places on the Matterhorn of life. As we follow the Gleam wherever it leads, may we count upon the upholding of those for whom we have written--the lovers of little children?
And now, in conclusion, all I would say has already been so perfectly said, that I cannot do better than copy from the writings of two who fought a good fight and have been crowned--Miss Ellice Hopkins, brave, sensitive, soldier-soul on the hardest of life"s battlefields; and George Herbert, courtier, poet, and saint. "Often in that nameless discouragement," wrote Miss Hopkins, as she lay slowly dying, "before unfinished tasks, unfulfilled aims and broken efforts, I have thought of how the creative Word has fashioned the opal, made it of the same stuff as desert sands, mere silica--not a crystallised stone like the diamond, but rather a stone with a broken heart, traversed by hundreds of small fissures which let in the air, the breath, as the Spirit is called in the Greek of our Testament; and through those two transparent mediums of such different density it is enabled to refract the light, and reflect every lovely hue of heaven, while at its heart burns a mysterious spot of fire. When we feel, therefore, as I have often done, nothing but cracks and desert dust, we can say: So G.o.d maketh His precious opal!"
We would never willingly disguise one fraction of the truth in our desire to win sympathy and true co-operation. There will be hours of nameless discouragement for all who climb the rock. For some there will be the "broken heart."
And yet there is a joy that is worth it all a thousand times--well worth it all. Who that has known it will doubt it? This reach of water recalls it. The palms, as we look at them, seem to lift their heads in solemn consciousness of it. For the water-side--where we stand with those for whom we have travailed in soul, when for the first time they publicly confess their faith in Christ--is a sacred place to us.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PLACE OF BAPTISM.]
Has our story wandered sometimes into sorrowful ways? To be true it has to be sorrowful sometimes. We look back to the day of its beginning, the day that our first little Temple child came and opened a new door to us.
Since that time many a bitter storm My soul hath felt, e"en able to destroy, Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm His swing and sway; But still Thy sweet original joy Sprung from Thine eye did work within my soul, And surging griefs when they grew bold control, And got the day.
It is true. Many a bitter storm has come; there have been the shock and the darkness of new knowledge of evil, and grief beside which all other pain pales, the grief of helplessness in the face of unspeakable wrong.
But still, above and within, and around, like an atmosphere, like a fountain, there has been something bright, even that "sweet original joy" which nothing can darken or quench.
If Thy first glance so powerful be A mirth but opened and sealed up again, What wonders shall we feel when we shall see Thy full-orbed love!
When Thou shalt look us out of pain, And one aspect of Thine spend in delight, More than a thousand worlds" disburse in light In heaven above!
And not alone, oh, not alone, shall we see Him as He is! There will be the little children too.
_Those who care to know how the Temple Children"s work began will find the story in_ "THINGS AS THEY ARE." _Preface by Eugene Stock; 320 pp.
and Thirty-two Ill.u.s.trations from Photographs taken specially for this work. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (post free 2s. 10d.) Also,_ "OVERWEIGHTS OF JOY." _Preface by Rev. T. Walker, C.M.S. With Thirty-four Ill.u.s.trations chiefly from Photographs taken specially for this work. Cloth, 2s. 6d.
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THINGS AS THEY ARE: MISSION WORK IN SOUTHERN INDIA
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OVERWEIGHTS OF JOY: MISSION WORK IN SOUTHERN INDIA
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