Our Basket | AdventAI

The Seventh-Day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · December 18, 1879

FromThe Review and Herald, Vol. 54, No. 25

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Our Basket.

“A little balm, and a little honey, spices, and myrrh, nuts and almonds.” Gen. 43:11.

—God’s mills grind slow but sure.

—God is always opening his hands to us.

—CHEER up, man; God is still where he was.

—God is at the end, when we think he is farthest off.

—THEN does the good man lay himself down to sleep with sweet composure in the midst of waves and storms, when he has lulled all the cares and sorrows of his heart to sleep, by pouring out his prayer to God.

—Many afflictions will not cloud and obstruct the peace of mind so much as one sin; therefore, if ye would wait cheerfully, be more careful to walk holily. All the winds about the earth make no earthquake, but only that within.

—THE man who, whether in his habits or his actions, in great things or in small, separates himself from his friends, seems to set every evil and envious feeling of our nature in array against him. Distinction is purchased at the expense of sympathy.

—A pious cottager residing in the midst of a long and dreary heath, being asked by a visitor, “Are you not sometimes afraid in your lonely situation, especially in the winter?” replied: “Oh, no; for Faith shuts the door at night, and Mercy opens it in the morning.”

SUFFERING AND JOY.

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” Rom. 8:18.

What though we suffer while we stay, ’Tis but the anguish of a day; At most, our life is but a span; A “hand’s-breadth are the days of man.” What if those days we “sow in tears,” And our hearts heave with rocking fears, Despairing thought and cank’ring care Their impress on our spirit bear; We’ll hope, and faint not in the race, But pray for all-sufficing grace To help us trust, from hour to hour, The Saviour’s love and watchful-power. Ere long, our earth-life being done, The battle fought, the victory won, With joy we’ll lay our armor down, And at his feet receive the crown.