Havergal Trust

Welcome to the Havergal Trust web-site. This is an introduction to the Havergal edition and Frances Ridley Havergal’s works.

David Chalkley dlchalkley@sbcglobal.net

810 West LaHarpe Street

Kirksville, Missouri 63501 U.S.A.

(All of this copyright 2003 The Havergal Trust, all rights reserved. Readers are welcome to copy parts of this for personal use or in a local church, but permission is needed for any formal use in a publication. The purpose of all this work is ministry to the Lord and to His people.)

Next are 3 sections:

1. introduction – brief description – to the edition

2. ten poems by F.R.H. – truly rich treasure from the Lord,

3. three prose pieces by F.R.H. – very representative of her works

This was the fifth of "Five Interesting Truths Illustrated" -- "From 'Our Own Correspondent.' " (Frances put these in a parish magazine, and she is the "correspondent.")

Gratitude for Redemption.---A penitent and believing sailor said, "To save such a sinner as I am! He shall never hear the last of it!" This expression, so frequently made use of by unforgiving persons, never was, that I know, applied in a Christian sense before this case. It was remarkably scriptural, for the hallelujahs of heaven will be eternal. "I will praise Thy name for ever and ever."---Rev Dr. Marsch.

He will never hear the end of His love to us. Dave

The edition of The Complete Works of Frances Ridley Havergal has 5 parts or sections:

Volume I Poetry

Volume II Prose Works

Volume III "for the little ones" Works for Children

Volume IV Memorials, Letters, and Biographical Works

Volume V Music

The first volume (6 inches by 9 inches) of Poetry will be 1165 pages. The title of the first volume is to be:

Behold Your King: The Complete Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal.

This title distinguishes this from the definitive and very fine Nisbet edition of her poetry. This volume will have -- with the Nisbet edition of her poetry -- a few other things by Frances and poems by William Henry Havergal, her father, and 2 of her sisters, Ellen Prestage (Havergal) Shaw and Maria V. G. Havergal.

The next volume (6 inches by 9 inches) of her Prose Works is to be 1179 pages. The title of the second volume is to be:

Whose I Am and Whom I Serve: Prose Works of Frances Ridley Havergal.

Volume III of the edition is the works for children, by far the smallest of the 5 Parts, is to be approximately 810 pages or so. The title is:

Loving Messages for the Little Ones: Works for Children by

Frances Ridley Havergal.

Volume IV is by far the largest section of the edition, typeset in 9-inch by 11-inch pages, likely to be approximately 1590 pages. The title is to be:

Love for Love: Frances Ridley Havergal: Memorials, Letters

and Biographical Works.

Volume V is music. This will be printed on 9"X11" pages to match the size of Volume IV. At this point we do not know an approximate guess of the size of Volume V, likely between 1000 and 1200 pages. Virtually all of Volumes I to IV is newly typeset, but most of Volume V is to be facsimile reprints (photocopies) of 19th century scores. The title for the final volume is to be:

Songs of Truth and Love: Music by Frances Ridley Havergal

and William Henry Havergal.

Several -- not all -- of Frances' books published by her or posthumously by her sister, Maria, had a title which was also the title of a poem by Frances, and the first 4 titles here are the titles of poems she wrote. The final title is after the very fine hymnbook Songs of Grace and Glory edited by Charles Busbridge Snepp (words) and F.R.H. (music), and also a smaller volume of music named Songs of Peace and Joy with which Frances was directly involved very near the end of her life.

This was written in a letter by Rev. Iain H. Murray to me October 31, 2003:

Now on Havergal -- my first thoughts of commendation are these

'Frances Ridley Havergal, was one of the most gifted poets ever

to write for the Christian church. To this day some of her hymns

are sung and loved all over the world yet much of her no-less

valuable writing and poetry has long been scarce and little

known. I am thankful that the Havergal Trust has been founded

to remedy this lack and the Havergal books that they have

already so attractively brought back into circulation deserve to

be widely known. They show unusual natural gifts wedded to a

strong evangelical theology, and like all the foremost Christian

writers she speaks to the heart as well as to the mind.'

Rev. Iain H. Murray

Next is a quotation by Spurgeon about Frances which Rev. Iain H. Murray found in a biography of Spurgeon and sent to me to use.

In Reminiscences of C. H. Spurgeon (RTS, 1895), the author, William Williams, says (pp.80-81) that Spurgeon's eyes 'sparkled with delight' as he read Havergal's verse, 'From glory unto glory' and S said of her;

'There is a centre to every storm where perfect calm reigns. There is a point within the circle of the most consumeing flame where life is possible without any danger to its being consumed. Miss Havergal seems to me to have got into the very centre of the storms that are disturbing others, and abides in perfect peace. She seems to have penetrated to the very heart of God who is a consumeing fire, and rests absolutely in His love. She could never have written as she has except for an extraordinary intimacy with God.'

The Scripture cannot be broken.

John 10:35

Upon the Word I rest,

Each pilgrim day;

This golden staff is best

For all the way.

What Jesus Christ hath spoken,

Cannot be broken !

Upon the Word I rest,

So strong, so sure,

So full of comfort blest,

So sweet, so pure !

The charter of salvation,

Faith's broad foundation.

Upon the Word I stand !

That cannot die !

Christ seals it in my hand.

He cannot lie !

The word that faileth never !

Abiding ever !

Chorus. The Master hath said it ! Rejoicing in this,

We ask not for sign or for token;

His word is enough for our confident bliss,---

"The Scripture cannot be broken !"

Frances Ridley Havergal

Love for Love

I John 4:16

Knowing that the God on high,

With a tender Father's grace,

Waits to hear your faintest cry,

Waits to show a Father's face,---

Stay and think! --- oh, should not you

Love this gracious Father too?

Knowing Christ was crucified,

Knowing that He loves you now

Just as much as when He died

With the thorns upon His brow,---

Stay and think! --- oh, should not you

Love this blesse`d Saviour too?

Knowing that a Spirit strives

With your weary, wandering heart,

Who can change the restless lives,

Pure and perfect peace impart,---

Stay and think! --- oh, should not you

Love this loving Spirit too?

Frances Ridley Havergal

God the Provider.

'My God shall supply all your need, according

to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.'

Who shall tell our untold need,

Deeply felt, though scarcely known!

Who the hungering soul can feed,

Guard, and guide, but God alone?

Blesse`d promise ! while we see

Earthly friends must powerless be,

Earthly fountains quickly dry:

'God ' shall all your need supply.

He hath said it ! so we know

Nothing less can we receive.

Oh that thankful love may glow

While we restfully believe,---

Ask not how, but trust Him still;

Ask not when, but wait His will:

Simply on His word rely,

God 'shall ' all your need supply.

Through the whole of life's long way,

Outward, inward need we trace;

Need arising day by day,

Patience, wisdom, strength, and grace.

Needing Jesus most of all,

Full of need, on Him we call;

Then how gracious His reply,

God shall 'all ' your need supply.

Great our need, but greater far

Is our Father's loving power;

He upholds each mighty star,

He unfolds each tiny flower.

He who numbers every hair,

Earnest of His faithful care,

Gave His Son for us to die;

God shall all 'your ' need supply.

Yet we often vainly plead

For a fancied good denied,

What we deemed a pressing need

Still remaining unsupplied.

Yet from dangers all concealed,

Thus our wisest Friend doth shield;

No good thing will He deny,

God shall all your 'need ' supply.

Can we count redemptions's treasure,

Scan the glory of God's love?

Such shall be the boundless measure

Of His blessings from above.

All we ask or think, and more,

He will give in bounteous store,---

He can fill and satisfy!

God shall all your need 'supply.' *

One the channel, deep and broad,

From the Fountain of the Throne,

Christ the Saviour, Son of God,

Blessings flow though Him alone.

He, the Faithful and the True,

Brings us mercies ever new:

Till we reach His home on high,

'God shall all your need supply.'

* The Greek word is much stronger than the English, -- 'will supply

to the full,' 'fill up,' 'satisfy.'

Frances Ridley Havergal

Matthew 14:23 "And when he had sent thte multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone."

Matthew 14:23

It is the quiet evening time, the sun is in the west,

And earth enrobed in purple glow awaits her nightly rest;

The shadows of the mountain peaks are lengthening o'er the sea,

And the flowerets close their eyelids on the shore of Galilee.

The multitude are gone away, their restless hum doth cease,

The birds have hushed their music, and all is calm and peace;

But on the lowly mountain side is One, whose beauteous brow

The impress bears of sorrow and of weariness e'en now.

The livelong day in deeds of love and power He hath spent,

And with them words of grace and life hath ever sweetly blent.

Now He hath gained the mountain top, He standeth all alone,

No mortal may be near Him in that hour of prayer unknown.

He prayeth.---But for whom? For Himself He needeth nought;

Nor strength, nor peace, nor pardon, where of sin there is no spot;

But 't is for us in powerful prayer He spendeth all the night,

That His own loved ones may be kept and strengthened in the fight;

That they may all be sanctified, and perfect made in one;

That they His glory may behold where they shall need no sun;

That in eternal gladness they may be His glorious bride:

It is for this that He hath climbed the lonely mountain side.

It is for this that He denies His weary head the rest

Which e'en the foxes in their holes, and birds have in their nest.

The echo of that prayer hath died upon the rocky hill,

But on a higher, holier mount that Voice is pleading still;

For while one weary child of His yet wanders here below,

While yet one thirsting soul desires His peace and love to know,

And while one fainting spirit seeks His holiness to share,

The Saviour's loving heart shall pour a tide of mighty prayer;

Yes ! till each ransomed one hath gained His home of joy and peace,

That Fount of Blessings all untold shall never, never cease.

Frances Ridley Havergal

(This poem on Matthew 14:23 is found in the section "Early Poems" on pages 159-160 of the Nisbet edition of the definitive, posthumous collection The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal prepared by her sister and niece, and this poem was given the date 1854. Really knowledgeable musicians think that Mendelssohn’s Octet Op. 20 is a remarkable work for a sixteen-year-old. Frances’ poem on Matthew 14:23 is similarly or moreso remarkable. Frances was born again in early 1851, soon after her fourteenth birthday. This poem on Matthew 14:23 was written when she was 17.)

Covenant Blessings

"He hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure." -- II Samuel 23:5

Jehovah's Covenant shall endure,

All ordered, everlasting, sure!

O child of God, rejoice to trace

Thy portion in its glorious grace.

'T is thine, for Christ is given to be

The Covenant of God to thee:

In Him, God's golden scroll of light,

The darkest truths are clear and bright.

O sorrowing sinner, well He knew,

Ere time began, what He would do!

then rest thy hope within the veil;

His covenant mercies shall not fail.

O doubting one, the Eternal Three

Are pledged in faithfulness for thee;

Claim every promise, sweet and sure,

By covenant oath of God secure.

O waiting one, each moment's fall

Is marked by love that planned them all;

Thy times, all ordered by His hand,

In God's eternal covenant stand.

O feeble one, look up and see

Strong consolation sworn for thee;

Jehovah's glorious arm is shown,

His covenant strength is all thine own.

O mourning one, each stroke of love

A covenant blessing yet shall prove;

His covenant love shall be thy stay;

His covenant grace be as thy day.

O Love that chose, O Love that died,

O Love that sealed and sanctified !

All glory, glory, glory be,

O covenant Triune God, to Thee!

Frances Ridley Havergal

Tiny Tokens

The murmur of a waterfall

A mile away,

The rustle when a robin lights

Upon a spray,

The lapping of a lowland stream

On dipping boughs,

The sound of grazing from a herd

Of gentle cows,

The echo from a wooded hill

Of cuckoo's call,

The quiver through the meadow grass

At evening fall:---

Too subtle are these harmonies

For pen and rule,

Such music is not understood

By any school:

But when the brain is overwrought,

It hath a spell,

Beyond all human skill and power,

To make it well.

II.

The memory of a kindly word

For long gone by,

The fragrance of a fading flower

Sent lovingly,

The gleaming of a sudden smile

Or sudden tear,

The warmer pressure of the hand,

The tone of cheer,

The hush that means ' I cannot speak

But I have heard ! '

The note that only bears a verse

From God's own Word:---

Such tiny things we hardly count

As ministry;

The givers deeming they have shown

Scant sympathy:

But when the heart is overwrought,

Oh, who can tell

The power of such tiny things

To make it well !

F.R.H.

The Song of a Summer Stream.

A few months ago

I was singing through the snow,

Though the dead brown boughs gave no hope of summer shoots,

And my persevering fall

Seemed to be no use at all,

For the hard, hard frost would not let me reach the roots.

Then the mists hung chill

All along the wooded hill,

And the cold, sad fog through my lonely dingles crept;

I was glad I had no power

To awaken one tender flower

To a sure, swift doom ! I would rather that it slept.

Still I sang all alone

In the sweet old summer tone,

For the strong white ice could not hush me for a day;

Though no other voice was heard

But the bitter breeze that whirred

Past the gaunt, grey trunks on its wild and angry way.

So the dim days sped,

While everything seemed dead,

And my own poor flow seemed the only loving sign;

And the keen stars shone

When the freezing night came on,

From the far, far heights, all so cold and crystalline.

A few months ago

I was singing through the snow !

But now the blessed shunshine is filling all the land,

And the memories are lost

Of the winter fog and frost,

In the presence of the Summer with her full and glowing hand.

Now the woodlark comes to drink

At my cool and pearly brink,

And the ladyfern is bending to kiss my rainbow foam;

And the wild-rose buds entwine

With the dark-leaved bramble-vine,

And the centuried oak is green around the bright-eyed

squirrel's home.

O the full and glad content,

That my little song is blent

With the all-melodious mingling of the choristers around !

I no longer sing alone

Through a chill-surrounding moan,

For the very air is trembling with its wealth of summer sound.

Though the hope seemed long deferred,

Ere the south wind's whisper heard

Gave a promise of the passing of the weary winter days,

Yet the blessing was secure,

For the summer time was sure

When the lonely songs are gathered in the mighty choir of praise.

Frances Ridley Havergal

Be Not Weary.

Yes ! He knows the way is dreary,

Knows the weakness of our frame,

Knows that hand and heart are weary;

He, ‘in all points,’ felt the same.

He is near to help and bless;

Be not weary, onward press.

Look to Him who once was willing

All His glory to resign,

That, for thee the law fulfilling,

All His merit might be thine.

Strive to follow day by day

Where His footsteps mark the way,

Look to Him, the Lord of Glory,

Tasting death to win thy life;

Gazing on ‘that wondrous story,’

Canst thou falter in the strife?

Is it not new life to know

That the Lord hath loved thee so?

Look to Him who ever liveth,

Interceding for His own:

Seek, yea, claim the grace He giveth

Freely from His priestly throne.

Will He not thy strength renew

With His Spirit’s quickening dew?

Look to Him, and faith shall brighten,

Hope shall soar, and love shall burn;

Peace once more thy heart shall lighten

Rise! He calleth thee, return!

Be not weary on thy way,

Jesus is thy strength and stay.

Frances Ridley Havergal

This is the end of Loyal Responses by F.R.H.

Just when Thou wilt.

Just when Thou wilt, O Master, call !

Or at the noon, or evening fall,

Or in the dark, or in the light,---

Just when Thou wilt, it must be right.

Just when Thou wilt, O Saviour, come,

Take me to dwell in Thy bright home !

Or when the snows have crowned my head,

Or ere it hath one silver thread.

Just when Thou wilt, O Bridegroom, say,

"Rise up, My love, and come away!"

Open to me Thy golden gate

Just when Thou wilt, or soon or late.

Just when Thou wilt---Thy time is best---

Thou shalt appoint my hour of rest,

Marked by the Sun of perfect love,

Shining unchangeably above.

Just when Thou wilt ! ---no choice for me !

Life is a gift to use for Thee;

Death is a hushed and glorious tryst,

With Thee, my King, my Saviour, Christ !

Frances Ridley Havergal

Reality.

Reality, reality,

Lord Jesus Christ, Thou art to me !

From the spectral mists and driving clouds,

From the shifting shadows and phantom crowds;

From unreal words and unreal lives,

Where truth with falsehood feebly strives;

From the passings away, the chance and change,

Flickerings, vanishings, swift and strange,

I turn to my glorious rest on Thee,

Who art the grand Reality.

Reality in greatest need,

Lord Jesus Christ, Thou art indeed !

Is the pilot real, who alone can guide

The drifting ship through the midnight tide?

Is the lifeboat real, as it nears the wreck,

And the saved ones leap from the parting deck?

Is the haven real, where the barque may flee

From the autumn gales of the wild North Sea?

Reality indeed art Thou,

My Pilot, Lifeboat, Haven now !

Reality, reality,

In brightest days Thou art to me !

Thou art the sunshine of my mirth,

Thou art the heaven above my earth,

The spring of the love of all my heart,

And the Fountain of my song Thou art;

For dearer than the dearest now,

And better than the best, art Thou,

Belove'd Lord, in whom I see

Joy-giving, glad Reality.

Reality, reality,

Lord Jesus, Thou hast been to me.

When I thought the dream of life was past,

And ' the Master's home-call ' come at last;

When I thought I only had to wait

A little while at the Golden Gate,---

Only another day or two,

Till Thou Thyself shouldst bear me through,

How real Thy presence was to me,

How precious Thy Reality !

Reality, reality,

Lord Jesus Christ, Thou art to me !

Thy name is sweeter than songs of old,

Thy words are better than ' most fine gold,'

Thy deeds are greater than hero-glory,

Thy life is grander than poet-story;

But Thou, Thyself, for aye the same,

Art more than words and life and name !

Thyself Thou has revealed to me,

In glorious Reality.

Reality, reality,

Lord Jesus Christ, is crowned in Thee.

In Thee is every type fulfilled,

In Thee is every yearning stilled

For perfect beauty, truth, and love;

For Thou art always far above

The grandest glimpse of our Ideal,

Yet more and more we know Thee real,

And marvel more and more to see

Thine infinite Reality.

Reality, reality

Of grace and glory dwells in Thee.

How real Thy mercy and Thy might !

How real Thy love, how real Thy light !

How real Thy truth and faithfulness !

How real Thy blessing when Thou dost bless !

How real Thy coming to dwell within !

How real the triumphs Thou dost win !

Does not the loving and glowing heart

Leap up to own how real Thou art?

Reality, reality !

Such let our adoration be !

Father, we bless Thee with heart and voice,

For the wondrous grace of Thy sovereign choice,

That patiently, gently, sought us out

In the far-off land of death and doubt,

That drew us to Christ by the Spirit's might,

That opened our eyes to see the light

That arose in strange reality,

From the darkness falling on Calvary.

Reality, reality,

Lord Jesus Christ, Thou art to me !

My glorious King, my Lord, my God,

Life is too short for half the laud,

For half the debt of praise I owe

For this blest knowledge, that ' I know

The reality of Jesus Christ,'---

Unmeasured blessing, gift unpriced !

Will I not praise Thee when I see

In the long noon of Eternity,

Unveiled, Thy 'bright Reality !'

Frances Ridley Havergal

This "Open Letter" was a printed leaflet, found among Havergal manuscripts and papers.

To the Members of the

Young Women's Christian Association.

“We believe, and therefore speak.” II Corinthians 4:13.

DEAR sister-workers, may we, prayerfully depending on the Holy Spirit's teaching, find in these words a stimulus to greater faithfulness to our membership, greater effort for our Master.

WHAT do we believe? “The glorious Gospel of Christ.” A true belief in this is no light thing. Could we sever it from our hearts, what would be left but a very death in life? However feeble, it is precious faith.

HOW do we believe? What is the practical result for others? We meet with those who have not “like precious faith,” and we are content to speak only of what is nothing worth. Yet each is in the danger from which we have fled, each has the same soul-needs. If we believed that she with whom we are lightly exchanging pleasant or necessary remarks, must perish for ever unless Jesus saves her, should we not “therefore speak?” Let us try to realise. The young friend or stranger at my side, if she does not know Jesus, has no Friend, no Comforter, no share in all my happiness, nothing to fill an aching void within. But more:---This very one, if she does not know Jesus, must be shut out from Him for ever, and endure the unknown terrors of God's wrath for ever, and ever, and ever. There is but a step between her and death, and this may be her last opportunity to hear of the Saviour's love. Can I believe these truths, and part from her with smiling nothings, without one word to arouse, to win, to save?

WHAT shall we speak? Say that to God. He will give us words. With our highest skill, we can but draw the bow at a venture, for the mark is hidden. Let us trust in Him Who can and will both give and guide the arrow. An imperceptible pause in conversation is time enough for an unworded prayer, a heart-glance up to Him for the right words, and for those words to be flashed into our minds, in swift and gracious answer. Let our hearts be filled with Christ and His salvation, and out of their abundance our mouths will speak.

WHEN shall we speak? Conscience will tell us. It will tell us, too, that we do not want more opportunities so much as grace to see and to use those which are continually given. Which of us can count lost opportunities? Yet our Master noted each one as it passed. Let not the number be increased this year. It may be that a sense of coldness and sin is heavy upon us, and we hardly dare to speak of truths which have so little power over ourselves. Yet it does not say---“We feel, and therefore speak,” but “We believe.” Could we say that we do not believe? or quietly endure to hear our Saviour's name and work denied? Even in our suffering we may tell a fellow-sufferer of a cure; and while laying her case before the Great Physician, we shall find that He is nearer than we thought, and that His healing and reviving hand is laid upon ourselves. “The Lord turned the captivity of Job when he prayed for his friends.” "He that watereth shall be watered.”

HOW shall we speak? One who has had long experience among Middle Eastern women lately said:---“If we would do them good, we must love them.” This is the secret of reaching

English girls, as well as Syrian maidens; the feather that wings our arrow must be love, and if love be real, it will be seen and felt. It flows spontaneously to some, but how shall we command it for all whom we would reach? Only believe the word---“He died for all.” Realise that Jesus so loved them that He died for them, and you will catch your Master's spirit, and speak with that winningness which love alone can give.

Let us make a second application of our motto, which yet must come first in practice. If we believe, let us therefore speak much to our God for every one to whom we would speak of Him. Does He anywhere set any limit to expectant prayer except His will? And “He willeth not the death of a sinner.” What unknown blessings we may have lost by restraining prayer! What unknown blessings may be granted us, even this year, only for the asking! Will every one connected with the Association pray especially that God would pour “the spirit of grace and of supplication" upon every Branch and every Member through the coming year? Then how many prayers will be transmuted into praise! Let us look forward, not merely with hope, but expectation; believing that not we alone, and not the angels only, but our beloved Master Himself, will rejoice and be very glad over those for whom we pray. Sooner or later, we who “believe, and therefore speak,” shall see, and therefore sing.

LORD, INCREASE OUR FAITH. LORD, OPEN THOU OUR LIPS.

F.R.H.

[Copies on application to MISS E. ROBARTS, Barnet.]

"I do not fear death."

Extract from Frances Ridley Havergal's MS., in answer to a remark: “Death, which we ALL dread.”

No, not “All !” One who has seen and accepted God's way of salvation, does not dread death. Perhaps I shall best express myself by doing it very personally—just giving my own experience.

I do not fear death. Often I wake in the night and think of it, look forward to it, with a thrill of joyful expectation and anticipation, which would become impatience, were it not that Jesus is my Master, as well as my Saviour, and I feel I have work to do for Him that I would not shirk, and also that His time to call me home will be the best and right time; therefore I am content to wait.

One night I was conscious of certain symptoms preluding an all but fatal attack (of erysipelas) I had had once before on the brain.

I knew, if means failed, it was probably my last night on earth. I let my mother attend to me, but alarmed no one, and I was left alone in bed. Then, alone in the dark, I felt it might be my last conscious hour on earth, and that either sleep or fatal unconsciousness would set in. I never spent a calmer, sweeter hour than that. I had not one shadow of fear! only happy rest and confidence in Him “Whom I have believed.”

Was this delusion? Could it be so in the very face of death, that great unmasker of all uncertainties? I knew it was not delusion, for “I know Whom I have believed.”

It was not always thus. I know as well as any one, what it is to “dread death,” and to put away the thought of its absolute certainty, because I dare not look it in the face.

There was a time when I saw clearly I could not save myself—that I deserved hell in many ways, but in one most of all, this—that I owed the whole love of my heart to God, and had not given it to Him; that Jesus had so loved me as to die for me, and yet I had treated Him with daily, hourly ingratitude. I had broken the first commandment, and as I owed all my life—future and past—to God, I had literally “nothing to pay;” for living to Him, and keeping His commands for the future, would not atone for the past. I saw the sinfulness of my heart and life. I could not make my heart better. “The soul that sinneth it shall die.” So, unless sin is taken away, my soul must die and go to hell.

Where then was my hope? In the same Word of God (1 John 5:10), it is written, “He that believeth on the Son hath the witness in himself,” and (John 3. 36), “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on Him.”

Believe what?—that He must keep His word and punish sin, and that He has punished it in the person of Jesus, our Substitute, “Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree” (1 Peter 2. 24).

If Jesus has paid my debt, and borne the punishment of my sins, I simply accept this, and believe Him, and it is all a true and real transaction. I did this—I believed it, and cast myself, utterly hopeless and helpless in myself, at the feet of Jesus, took Him at His word, and accepted what He had done for me.

Result?—Joy, peace in believing, and a happy, FULL trust in Him, which death cannot touch.

Now it is a reality of realities to me—it is so intertwined with my life, that I know nothing could separate me from His love.

I could not do without Jesus. I cannot and I do not live without Him. It is a new and different life; and the life and light which takes away all fear of death, is what I want others to have and enjoy.

“Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15. 54).

ONE HOUR WITH JESUS.

“What! could ye not watch with Me one hour?”

By Frances Ridley Havergal.

[“One Hour with Jesus” is a truthful, beautiful, compassionate entreaty to believers to spend one hour at the start of each day alone with the Lord, reading His Word and praying to Him.]

ONE HOUR WITH JESUS.

“What! could ye not watch with Me one hour!”

An echo of this utterance of pathetic surprise, this wonderfully gentle reproof, seems to float around a matter of daily experience, and, with too many, of daily faithlessness. Our Divine Master has called us to no Gethsemane-watch of strange and mysterious darkness. It is while the brightness of day is breaking — perhaps even long after it has broken — that His call to communion with Himself reaches our not always willing ear. “Come with me!” (Song of Solomon 4:8). And the drowsy reply too often is, “Presently, Lord! not just this minute!”

And then, after “yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep,” the precious hour is past which “might have been” so full of blessing. “What! could ye not watch with Me one hour?” What is the practical answer of very many of His disciples?

“Oh, yes! very easily and readily, when the ‘one hour’ is at night, and we do not feel particularly inclined to go to bed, especially if we have a nice fire to ‘watch’ by. But oh, no! if the ‘one hour’ involves getting up at seven instead of eight, especially on a cold and gloomy morning. That is a very different matter!”

Were the question asked, “What one thing do you suppose has most hindered the largest number of Christians this day and this year in their spiritual life and growth?” I should reply unhesitatingly, “Probably the temptation not to rise in time to put on their armor as well as their dress before breakfast.”

A mere ten minutes — is that enough preparation for our warfare and provision for our wants; for spreading all our needs and difficulties before the Lord; for telling Jesus all that is in our hearts; for bringing before Him all the details of our work; for searching to know His mind and His will; for storing His word in our hearts; for replenishing our seed-baskets, that we may have something to sow, and getting Him to sharpen our sickles that we may reap; for confession and supplication and intercession, and, above all, for praise?

Ten minutes or a quarter of an hour! Is that enough for the many things which He has to say unto us? for the quiet teachings of His Spirit, for the dawning of His light on the dark sayings of old, and the flashing of His glory and power on the words which are spirit and life? Is that enough to spend in converse with the Friend of friends? Does this look as if we really cared very much about Him? Even if it were enough for our small, cool affection, is if enough, think you, for His great love? enough to satisfy the Heart that is waiting to commune with ours? He loves us so much that He will have us with Him forever, and we love Him so little that we did not care to turn out of bed this morning in time to have even half-an-hour of real intercourse with Him. For it would have been “with Him.” There was no doubt about His being at the tryst. He slumbered not; “He faileth not” — but we failed. What have we missed this morning! How do we know what He may have had to say to us? What have we missed all the mornings of this past year!