WHISPER WORDS by J. G. Excell

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 3, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 44.

“WHISPER WORDS.”

By J. G. Excell

A BEAUTIFUL thought, and one of wonderful significance, is found in the twenty-sixth chapter of that remarkable Biblical poem, the book of Job. After speaking of some of the wonderful works of God, Job exclaims: “Lo, these are parts of His ways; but how little a portion is heard of Him? But the thunder of His power, who can understand?” Well may he ask this question; for it is not in the power of finite mind to comprehend the things of the infinite. “As the heavens are higher than the earth,” so are His thoughts higher than our thoughts.

How little do we understand even of the things of earth! How wonderful they appear to us! We may sail day after day upon the mighty deep, and catch no glimpse of land, on and on, till our souls are subdued by the thought of its vastness. It seems the expression of the infinity of eternity, and we can scarce grasp the thought of Him who “hath compassed the waters with bounds.”

We gaze upon the snow-capped mountains, towering miles above the surrounding plain, piercing the clouds, standing like sentinels watching while nations rise and fall. Who can comprehend their vastness? who so ancient as to remember when they were not? We pause for answer, and the Spirit of God breaks the stillness, saying, “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God.”

Let us compute the number of the inhabitants of the world. We think of the cities with their thousands and ten thousands, of the nations with their millions upon millions; and as we try to mass them into one vast company and comprehend them all, we realize the inability of our finite minds to grasp such numbers. Who is He who numbers them all?

Let us survey the earth and ascertain its weight. We pass over land and sea, from one vast continent to another; we go down into the bowels of the earth. The mind is wearied with the thought of computing the weight of estimating the power that upholds such enormous volume. But He “hangeth the earth upon nothing.”

We behold the sun in his strength, or the moon in her beauty, or consider the number or magnitude of the stars, and we exclaim with the

psalmist, “The heavens declare the glory of God.” These, we say, must be the result of the utmost exertion of His power. Who can understand it? How vast! how mighty! how incomprehensible are all these things! But the inspired poet says, “Lo, these are parts of His ways.” These but parts, but small portions? What, then, must be the greatness of all His works?

The oceans are nothing. He holdeth them “in the hollow of His hand.” What are the mountains to Him? He weigheth “the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance.” What are the millions, yea, billions of inhabitants of earth?—“The nations are as a drop of a bucket, . . . as the small dust of the balance.” The power that upholds the earth is but little to Him. “The pillars of heaven tremble . . . at His reproof.” The stars are but few and small in His sight. He “bringeth out their hosts by number; He calleth them all by names.” They are “the work of His fingers.”

In the original of Job 26:14 the thought is intensified. The idea is that in these mighty works we have heard but the faint sounds, the whisper words, and who can comprehend the “thunder of His power”?

We shall be better able to get the thought if we can once hear these faint sounds—these “whisper words.”

'Tis the holy Sabbath. The sacred hush, like sweet perfume, seems to pervade all nature. Our souls are drinking in the atmosphere of heaven. With sweet meditations we wend our way to a temple of the Most High; and as we enter its sacred precincts, our hearts say, “The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him.” All is worshipful. Reverently we pass down the aisle, no sound falling upon our ears except the rustle of our own garments. We bow our heads, and breathe a prayer that the Lord of the Sabbath will grant His blessing upon the service, and touch our hearts by His Spirit. Our prayer ended, we wait for the Lord to speak to us. Almost imperceptibly there floats into our souls, music so faint, so beautiful, that involuntarily we hold our breath and incline our ears to catch the strains which seem to come from the realms of infinite bliss.

Is it the sound of angel choirs Around the throne above, Of golden harps—celestial lyres— The symphony of love?

Our souls are enraptured by the sound, as faint as tho whispered, as delicate, as ethereal—

As tho the rose of Sharon And the lily of the vale Into the sweetest music Their fragrance did exhale.

These are the “whisper words.” What is the power? Listen! The music, like a rill, soon becomes a brook. Increasing in power, it flows on. Now ’tis a stream, ever widening and deepening. On, swiftly on, till it becomes a river. Now like a mighty Niagara it pours forth in wondrous power. The very earth is shaken, as ten thousand voices unite with the powerful organ to swell the chorus, “Great are Thy works, Jehovah;” “Great and marvelous are Thy works, . . . Thou King of Ages.” Rev. 15:3. But what is the music of earth to the “thunder of His power”? Listen! The river, with ever-increasing volume, now reaches the sea; and as the tidal wave comes in, we hear the “angels that excel in strength” singing, in the fulness of power, “The heavens declare the glory of God.”

But hark! Once more the scene is changed. Now ’tis the ocean, with waves rolling mountain high. Heaven and earth unite as “every creature which is in heaven, and on earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, heard I saying, Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power.” “I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunderings, saying, Alleluiah; for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.”

But what are the mighty works of God apart from His love? What is the lesson in all this?

Little by little has God expressed His thoughts to us. His love, so matchless, so wonderful, so infinite, has been but whispered. He has not spoken in the fulness of power, but as it were in faint echoes—in whispers.

“Angels, descending, bring from above Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.”

God’s countenance—the picture of His love—is now vailed. It has not shone upon us in the fulness of power, but in gentle beams. We see as in a mirror the dim outlines, a faint representation, of His face. “Now we see through a glass, darkly,” and yet what gentleness, what kindness, what beneficence do we see in that image!

But there will be a day when this mortal shall put on immortality; when this mind shall be no longer trammeled with corruptibility; when we shall be so strengthened and perfected in love that we may hear His voice and see His face; when we shall see Him face to face—that face the picture of infinite love—when we shall hear His voice as He speaks His love to us,—“thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give [us] an end and expectation.” O, the height, the depth, the length, the breadth of the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge!

Well may the poet sing of the infinitude of love pictured in that face, and the boundlessness of love uttered in that voice:—

“He looks, and ten thousands of angels rejoice, And myriads wait for His word; He speaks, and eternity, filled with His voice, Re-echoes the praise of the Lord.”

J. G. EXCELL.