April 3The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light — Rom. 13:12.
The works of darkness would be any works whatever that would not stand the fullest investigation, that would not stand approval in the light of the new dispensation, if it were fully ushered in. Let us remember that we belong to the new dispensation, and not to the old, and should, therefore, live in accordance with our citizenship and our responsibility toward the Prince of Light and in opposition to the prince of darkness, his works and his ways—Z '03, 122 (R 3181). The night of Satan's dark reign over the earth is almost ended. The day of Christ's joyous reign is at hand. As God's people we should cast off any and every work or quality imbued with the Adversary's spirit, and arm ourselves with every truth and grace of the Lord's Spirit. Thus our citizenship in the Kingdom of God will be properly attested, and our patriotism will be splendidly manifested, and that to the Divine pleasing—P '30, 31. Parallel passages: Gen. 6:5, 11; 8:21; Psa. 51:5; Prov. 20:9; Eccles. 7:20; Isa. 1:5, 6; 51:1; 64:6; Jer. 17:9; Matt. 7:17; 15:19; John 3:19; Rom. 1:21-32; 3:9-19, 23; 6:6, 19, 20; Gal. 5:17, 19-21; Eph. 4:17-22; 5:11; Col. 3:8; Eph. 6:12-18; 1 Thes. 5:8; John 3:21; 15:2-8; 2 Cor. 9:8; Gal. 6:4, 7-9. Hymns: 192, 266, 82, 130, 13, 200, 272. Poems of Dawn, 241: The Field of Battle. Tower Reading: Z '15, 280 (R 5768). Questions: Have I this week put off evil and put on good? How? What helped or hindered? With what results? |
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THE FIELD OF BATTLE
To grasp the two-edged sword, and forward rush
upon the foe,
To hear the Captain's cry, to see the flash of answer-
ing eyes,
To feel the throbbing hearts of battling comrades in
the ranks,—
That rapturous inspiration know, of warring for the
Right,
The holy joy of following Him who points and
leads the way!
Ah! yes, 'tis glorious thus to fight the goodly fight,
and yet,
Methinks, beyond the firing line, beneath those snowy
tents,
A fiercer conflict rages night and day, where trembling
hands,
Wan lips and fever-lighted eyes do battle with a host
Of deadly foes,—grim giants, Doubt and Disappoint-
ment, fierce
Despair,—before whose fiery darts the bravest well
might quail!
They also hear the call, and hoarsely cry, "Lord,
here am I!"
They strive to reach their swords, to struggle to their
feet, but back
In helpless agony of weakness on their pallets fall,
With brain afire, and reason tottering on its throne,
their tears
Of anguish flow! Sometimes the noise of battle
sweeps beyond
The range of those poor, straining ears, and then the
spectre Fear
Stalks through the room, and lays an icy hand upon
each heart:
The awful thought, Our captain hath forsaken and
forgot,
Our comrades forge ahead, they leave us here alone
to die!
But no! the Lord of Battles is most merciful, He
sends
A swift-winged messenger: "Yea, though a mother
may forget
Her sucking child, yet will I not forget!" Then,
like the calm
That cometh after storm, sweet peace and quiet reign
within
Those troubled breasts, and so He giveth His beloved
sleep.
Ah! then, true-hearted comrades in the forefront of
the fight,
Remember that the wounded to God's army still
belong,
And send betimes to them a white-winged messenger
of cheer.
Oh, give Love's roses now, nor keep them for the
coffin's lid,
(A single flower is sweeter far than thousands by
and by);
Take time to speak a tender word, to shed a pitying
tear,
Or breathe, at least, a prayer throughout the watches
of the night,
And thus prove more than conquerors through the
power of deathless love!
To grasp the two-edged sword, and forward rush
upon the foe,
To hear the Captain's cry, to see the flash of answer-
ing eyes,
To feel the throbbing hearts of battling comrades in
the ranks,—
That rapturous inspiration know, of warring for the
Right,
The holy joy of following Him who points and
leads the way!
Ah! yes, 'tis glorious thus to fight the goodly fight,
and yet,
Methinks, beyond the firing line, beneath those snowy
tents,
A fiercer conflict rages night and day, where trembling
hands,
Wan lips and fever-lighted eyes do battle with a host
Of deadly foes,—grim giants, Doubt and Disappoint-
ment, fierce
Despair,—before whose fiery darts the bravest well
might quail!
They also hear the call, and hoarsely cry, "Lord,
here am I!"
They strive to reach their swords, to struggle to their
feet, but back
In helpless agony of weakness on their pallets fall,
With brain afire, and reason tottering on its throne,
their tears
Of anguish flow! Sometimes the noise of battle
sweeps beyond
The range of those poor, straining ears, and then the
spectre Fear
Stalks through the room, and lays an icy hand upon
each heart:
The awful thought, Our captain hath forsaken and
forgot,
Our comrades forge ahead, they leave us here alone
to die!
But no! the Lord of Battles is most merciful, He
sends
A swift-winged messenger: "Yea, though a mother
may forget
Her sucking child, yet will I not forget!" Then,
like the calm
That cometh after storm, sweet peace and quiet reign
within
Those troubled breasts, and so He giveth His beloved
sleep.
Ah! then, true-hearted comrades in the forefront of
the fight,
Remember that the wounded to God's army still
belong,
And send betimes to them a white-winged messenger
of cheer.
Oh, give Love's roses now, nor keep them for the
coffin's lid,
(A single flower is sweeter far than thousands by
and by);
Take time to speak a tender word, to shed a pitying
tear,
Or breathe, at least, a prayer throughout the watches
of the night,
And thus prove more than conquerors through the
power of deathless love!
