Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Commemoration of Charles Williams, Spiritual Writer, 1945 I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth read more

Commemoration of Charles Williams, Spiritual Writer, 1945 I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to share; Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures there. It was the sight of Thy dear cross First weaned my soul from earthly things; And taught me to esteem as dross The mirth of fools, and pomp of kings. I want that grace that springs from Thee, That quickens all things where it flows; And makes a wretched thorn like me Bloom as the myrtle or the rose. Dear fountain of delight unknown! No longer sink beneath the brim, But overflow, and pour me down A living and life-giving stream! For sure, if all the plants that share The notice of Thy Father's eye, None proves less grateful to His care, Or yields Him meaner fruit than I.

Let us not forget the humanity of the Lord Jesus Christ. Let us not think of it vaguely, and fall read more

Let us not forget the humanity of the Lord Jesus Christ. Let us not think of it vaguely, and fall into the heretical fancy that the Son of God became man merely to transact certain things which were necessary to secure the salvation of men, and that after this object was achieved His human nature recedes into the background and impenetrable obscurity. No, it is not so; all-important as His work on earth was -- the only foundation of our hope and blessedness -- let us adore the revealed mystery that God gave us His Son, never to recall Him, as it were, and take Him away from us; He spared Him not and gave Him to us, allowing Him to become man, exalting Him as the Son of Man, enthroning Him because of his obedience unto death, and giving unto Him as the Son of Man all power in heaven and earth.

Feast of Mary Sumner, Founder of the Mothers' Union, 1921 Thou knowest well how to excuse and color thine read more

Feast of Mary Sumner, Founder of the Mothers' Union, 1921 Thou knowest well how to excuse and color thine own deeds; but thou art not willing to receive the excuses of others. It were more just that thou shouldest accuse thyself, and excuse thy brother.

Feast of Henry Martyn, Translator of the Scriptures, Missionary in India & Persia, 1812 A dog barks when read more

Feast of Henry Martyn, Translator of the Scriptures, Missionary in India & Persia, 1812 A dog barks when his master is attacked. I would be a coward if I saw that God's truth is attacked and yet would remain silent.

Every day is a little life: and our whole life is but a day repeated, whence it is that old read more

Every day is a little life: and our whole life is but a day repeated, whence it is that old Jacob numbers his life by days; and Moses desires to be taught this point of holy arithmetic, to number not his years but his days. [And so, those] that dare lose a day, are dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate.

Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.

Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.

That thou mayest win to the sweetness of God's love, I set here three degrees of love, in the which read more

That thou mayest win to the sweetness of God's love, I set here three degrees of love, in the which thou shouldst be aye waxing. The first is called insuperable, the second inseparable, the third singular. Thy love is insuperable when nothing may overcome it, that is, neither weal, nor woe, nor anguish, just of flesh nor the liking of this world... Thy love is inseparable when all thy thoughts and thy wills are gathered together and fastened wholly in Jesus Christ, so that thou mayest no time forget Him, but aye thou thinkest on Him... Thy love is singular when all thy delight is in Jesus Christ and in no other thing finds joy and comfort.

At the very moment when the pulpit has fallen strangely silent about sin, fiction can talk of little except evil, read more

At the very moment when the pulpit has fallen strangely silent about sin, fiction can talk of little except evil, not indeed viewed as sin, but apparently as the invariable ways of a peculiarly repulsive insect, which it can't help, poor thing; and there is no manner of use expecting anything from it, except the nastiness natural to it.