Mr. Spurgeon tells of a visit he made to a public house in Nottingham, to see the landlord's wife who was dying, and found her rejoicing in the Saviour's love. He asked her how she found Christ. "Reading that," she replied. Mr. Spurgeon looked at the paper and discovered that it was part of an American newspaper containing an extract from a sermon preached in London. He asked where she found the paper, and she said it was wrapped round a parcel sent from Australia.
Think how that message of salvation was ordained to travel from London to America, then to Australia, and then back to England, on a piece of paper to a needy soul in Nottingham.
Yes, think of the blessing that piece of paper contained though the sender may not have had any purpose in view, and then think of the blessing the tracts and papers must be that are sown and watered with tears in behalf of needy souls by the publishers and the distributors.
"Sown in the darkness, or sown in the light,
Sown in our weakness, or sown in our might;
Gathered in time or eternity,
Sure, ah, sure will the harvest be."
No one is too weak nor too insufficient to have a share in the sowing. Loving hearts and willing hands are all that is required.
A young man lay on a hospital cot, recovering from an operation which had been a most serious one. His surgeon—a renowned and skillful operator—was paying his daily visit. He had been making some inquiries about the young man's family, for certain points in the case greatly interested him, and he had wished to know of the inheritance that lay back of this young man. In answer to a question, the patient said, "Oh, yes, my folks are all religious—all the family way back—" adding carelessly, "I don't take much stock in that sort of thing myself."
"You have inherited stock in it, young man, and very valuable stock," answered the Christian physician, "Do you know why you are recovering so rapidy from your accident—why the bones knit and the wounds heal so rapidly? It is because those ancestors of yours have bequeathed to you good clean blood and a sound constitution—the physical makeup of those who have kept God's laws. He is a God of justice, and the heritage of those that fear His Name is a precious and priceless one in many ways. I wouldn't speak lightly of such a birthright. The responsibility is upon you to pass on an equally desirable one to your children."—The Illustrator.
People get back in this world just about what they give. If we think the world is hard on us, the probability is that the hardness is in ourselves, and that it is the echo of our own speeches that we hear, the rebound of our own smitings that we feel, the reflection of our own ugliness of disposition and temper that we see, the harvest of our own sowing that we gather into our bosoms. If we are untrue to anyone, it is quite likely that someday somebody will be untrue to us. If we are unjust to another, there is little doubt that sometime someone will deal unjustl) with us.—J. R. Miller.
A story is told of two Scotchmen who emigrated to California. They wanted to have in their new home some reminder of their homeland. One took with him a thistle, the national emblem. The other took a swarm of honeybees.
Years passed by. Fields for a long distance are cursed with the thistle, which the farmer cannot get rid of. But the forests and fields are laden with the sweetness of honey.
Little did those two men think of what would grow out of their selections, either for good or for evil.
Is it not so always? The seemingly insignificant acts mean much to future generations. We are a burden or blessing to others through the little things of life, which are fuller of help or hindrance than we often think.
Beginnings count; we can control beginnings. We can make them what we will. Thoughtlessness may bring trouble to many. Thoughtfulness may bring untold good.—The Friend (Dayton).
He was a tenant farmer. From time to time he renewed his lease. He had worked long hours, year after year, and had made the farm a model of its kind. One day the agent mentioned to him that the owner would require the farm for his son, who was about to be married. The farmer was greatly upset, and made a number of offers in hopes that his terms would affect the owner's decision. It was in vain. The day drew near when he had to vacate the home, and then he did something he had decided upon in weeks of angry brooding. He gathered seeds of all the pests of the farmer, and when it was dark, moved up and down over that fertile, clean soil, casting into it this rubbish. Next morning, bright and early, the agent rode up to the door, and informed him that the owner's plan had fallen through and he would be glad to renew the lease. He did not understand the farmer's "My God, what a fool I've been!"—War Cry.
Oh, scatter seeds of loving deeds
Along the fertile field;
For grain will grow from what you sow,
And fruitful harvest yield.
Though sown in tears through weary years,
The seed will surely live;
Though great the cost it is not lost,
For God will fruitage give.
The harvest-home of God will come:
And after toil and care,
With joy untold your sheaves of gold
Will all be garnered there.—By Sonny Captain Benibo, native missionary of Nigeria, West Africa.