Part 6

"My Beloved is mine, and I am his." All that he is is mine, and all that I am is his. He is more than all the world to me, and without him heaven would not be worth having. "Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee." Jesus! my Jesus! Eternal musings will not exhaust this hive of honey. He has saved me from my sins and betrothed me to himself for ever. O my soul, "how much owest thou unto my Lord!" The greatness of my indebtedness I will not fully realize till I stand upon the yonder shore, and perhaps not even then.

"Jesus, I ne'er can pay The debt I owe thy love."

I am, and ever will be, "debtor." Thy gifts to me have been so great that, though my giving cannot enrich thee, I would fain relieve my grateful heart by giving thee some token of love.

In the stable at Bethlehem the Eastern sages open their costly treasures. The sight is a strange one, and there seems a strange incongruity between the gifts and the receiver; also between the giver and the receiver. The wise men bow before a babe, and lavish the riches of the East upon the infant of the lowly manger. "Lavish," did I say? Let not the thought of waste be here implied. This babe is "the holy child Jesus," the King of the Jews. Bring costly sacrifices. "The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents; the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts. Yea, all kings shall fall down before him; all nations shall serve him."

Jesus, Saviour, once a child! Jesus, my exalted King! what shall I bring to thy footstool? What shall I give my Lord?

"Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small."

But I am poor, very poor. No good works have I to bring; no incense of holy prayers; no golden thoughts in which there mingles no alloy of impurity.

"Thou willest that thy bride should be-- I bless thy will--most poor, most low, Receiving everything from thee, My Lord and God. Then be it so.

"That I have nothing of my own, Freely and gladly I to all declare. This is my portion, this alone, That thou permittest me thy name to bear."

Have I then nothing to give? Stay, holy Christ; I have a heart. True, it is polluted--more than this, it is broken--yet I have heard that though

"Our God requires a whole heart or none, Yet he will accept a broken one."

Accept the gift. Take it and make it holy; fill it with love to thee. Fill it even to overflowing; so that, having received all from thee, I may be able to give thee all. Let me be wholly thine--thine in every thought and passion of my soul. Here, Lord, I give my soul to thee; I am thine.

"Poor heart of mine, awake, arise! And thou, my Bridegroom, my life's Sun, Draw me to reach the heavenly prize, Oh, do thou draw, and we will run. Draw after thee thy fainting bride, Who still is far, too far, from light and grace; Till in thy presence, at thy side, She see thee wholly--see thee face to face."

My meditation of him makes me long to see Him whom, having not seen, I love. I would see him--not as I have seen him in the sanctuary and in his holy supper, but I would see him "face to face." I would see him as he is; and, blessed be his glorious name for ever! I shall one day see him thus. Oh blessed hope! These eyes shall see Jesus; "For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another."

And, better than all beside, I shall be like him; for "we know that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." Such knowledge is too wonderful for me: it is high; I cannot attain unto it.

"Jesus! the very thought is sweet; In that dear name all heart-joys meet; But sweeter than the honey far The glimpses of his presence are.

"No word is sung more sweet than this; No name is heard more full of bliss; No thought brings sweeter comfort nigh Than Jesus, Son of God most high.

"Jesus, the Hope of souls forlorn, How good to them for sin that mourn! To them that seek thee, oh how kind! But what art thou to them that find!

"No tongue of mortal can express, No letter write, its blessedness: Alone who hath thee in his heart Knows, love of Jesus, what thou art.

"O Jesus! King of wondrous might; O Victor! glorious from the fight; Sweetness that may not be expressed, And altogether loveliest."

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's A Basket of Barley Loaves, by Mary Christina Miller