Pilgrim's Path Daily

Monday, May 15, 2006

DAILY POEM

(A STORY ABOUT DEATH)

'He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass.' Ps 72:6 "Amos speaks of the King's mowings. Our King has many scythes, and is perpetually mowing His lawns. The musical tinkle of the whetstone on the scythe portends the cutting down of myriads of green blades, daisies, and other flowers. Beautiful as they were in the morning, within an hour or two they lie in long, faded rows.

"Thus in human life we make a brave show, before the scythe of pain, the shears of disappointment, the sickle of death. There is no method of obtaining a velvety lawn but by repeated mowings; and there is no way of developing tenderness, evenness, sympathy, but by the passing of God's scythes.

"How constantly the Word of God compares man to grass, and his glory to its flower! But when grass is mown, and all the tender shoots are bleeding, and desolation reigns where flowers were bursting, it is the most acceptable time for showers of rain falling soft and warm.

"O soul, thou hast been mown! Time after time the King has come to thee with His sharp scythe. Do not dread the scythe -- it is sure to be followed by the shower!"

--F.B. Meyer

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