ACQUAINT THYSELF WITH GOD

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · April 22, 1880

FromThe Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, Vol. 55, No. 17

ACQUAINT THYSELF WITH GOD.

“Acquaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace; thereby good shall come unto thee.” Job 22:21.

Poor friendless wanderer in a world of woe, Why dost thou seek for peace from aught below? Relieve from anxious cares thy aching breast, Acquaint thyself with God, and be at rest. Hast thou a soul that loves to mount sublime On wings of fire, and search through every clime For dazzling forms of beauty and of grace, Such as the limner’s pencil loves to trace? Hast thou in nature’s awful temple knelt A worshiper devout—her grandeur felt ’Mong deserts wild, and valleys dark and deep; Or where the forest climbs the mountain steep? And hast thou heard the loud and ceaseless roar Of ocean’s waves upon her rocky shore? Hast thou a worshiper of nature been, And is there still an aching void within— A thirst for joy, which neither fertile field, Nor mountains high, nor flowing streams can yield? Thy labors cease—thy fruitless search give o’er— Acquaint thyself with God, and sigh no more.

In nature’s works the God of nature see, And joyful own a present Deity. His power in every blade of grass is seen; His hand the meadow clothes in cheerful green; He paints the lily white—the violet blue; He gives the evening clouds their varied hue; His finger marks the path the lightning flies, When lowering tempests veil our summer skies; Upon the storm he rides; the thunders loud Around him roll; the shining heavens are bowed Beneath his radiant feet; we move and live In him who did at first our being give. Praise him, ye clouds; praise him, ye lakes and streams, Ye hills and fertile fields. Praise him, ye beams Of day, that scatter wide the shades of night, And to the watchman’s eye restore the light.

Or hast thou, mortal, worshiped at the shrine Of fortune, deeming still her power divine? And hast thou dreamed, that in her hour of strife Blind chance has sway supreme o’er human life; That joy and sorrow at her bidding fly, And weave the fearful web of destiny, Involving all—the wise, the good, the great, The vile, the worthless—in one common fate? Pray, what is chance? A figment of the brain, A heathen deity, powerless and vain, Much worshiped once, by the unthinking crowd, When Greece was of her fame and learning proud; But now her rites have ceased; her spell is o’er; And offerings on her altars smoke no more.

Jehovah reigns o’er earth, and sea, and sky; Each hair is told; nor can a sparrow die Unnoticed by his bright, all-seeing eye. Then think not o’er thy life the fates preside; Worship thy God, and lay thy fears aside. Thy way to him commit. ’Tis not in man, That walketh, with unerring eye to scan The path that he should take. ’Tis God alone Can guide where sin and shame are both unknown. His hand can shield thee in the dangerous hour, When clouds and tempests dark around thee lower. Nor death, nor hell, with all its hosts, can harm, If o’er thy head is stretched his powerful arm. Then place in him thy hope. In him confide, And safe beneath his shadowy wings abide. —Selected.