A WONDROUS, STEADFAST LOVE
He does not send to us the cold meat and the broken pieces from the table of his luxury, but he dips our morsel in his own dish, and seasons our provisions with the spices of his fragrant affections. When he puts the golden tokens of his grace into our palms, he accompanies the gift with such a warm pressure of our hand, that the manner of his giving is as precious as the boon itself.
He will come into our houses upon his errands of kindness, and he will not act as some austere visitors do in the poor man’s cottage, but he sits by our side, not despising our poverty, nor blaming our weakness.
Beloved, with what smiles does he speak! What golden sentences drop from his gracious lips! What embraces of affection does he bestow upon us! If he had but given us farthings, the way of his giving would have gilded them, but as it is, the costly alms are set in a golden basket by his pleasant carriage. It is impossible to doubt the sincerity of his charity, for there is a bleeding heart stamped upon the face of all his gifts. He gives liberally and does not scold. Not one hint that we are burdensome to him, not one cold look for his poor pensioners, but he rejoices in his mercy and presses us to his bosom while he is pouring out his life for us.
There is a fragrance in his spikenard that nothing but his heart could produce—there is a sweetness in his honeycomb that could not be in it unless the very essence of his soul’s affection had been mingled with it.
Oh! the rare communion which such singular heartiness brings about! May we continually taste and know the blessedness of it!
Adapted from Morning and Evening.