How an old Harper dotes on his harp! How he fondles and caresses it, as a child resting on his bosom! His life is bound up in it. But see him tuning it. He grasps it firmly, strikes a chord with a sharp quick blow; and while it quivers as if in pain, he leans over intently to catch the first note that rises. The note, as he feared, is false and harsh. He strains the chord with the torturing thumbscrew; and though it seems to ready to snap with the tension, he strikes it again, bending down to listen softly as before, till at length you see a smile on his face as the first true tone trembles upward.

So it may be that God is dealing with you and I. Loving us better than any Harper ever loved his harp, He finds us a mass of jarring chords. He wrings our heartstrings with some torturing anguish; He bends over us tenderly, striking and listening; and hearing only a harsh murmur, strikes us again, while His heart bleeds for us, anxiously waiting for the strain - "Not my will, but thine be done!" This strain is melody sweet to His ears as angel's songs. He will not cease to strike until our chastened soul shall blend with all the pure and infinite harmonies of His own being.*

What more can I add to such profound thoughts...except...

"It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes..." Ps 119:71

*Courage for the weary soul from "Streams in the Desert" - Jan 28th