The God Of The Bible

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

Ordinarily Rivers Run Small At The Beginning, Grow Broader And Broader As They Proceed, And Become Widest And Deepest At The Point, Where They Enter The Sea. It Is Such Rivers That The Christian's Life Is Like. But The Life Of The Mere Worldly Man Is Like Those Rivers In Southern Africa, Which, Proceeding From Mountain Freshets, Are Broad And Deep At The Beginning, And Grow Narrower And More Shallow As They Advance. They Waster Themselves By Soaking Into The Sands, And At Last They Die Out Entirely. The Farther They Run The Less There Is Of Them.

Of All Joyful, Smiling, Ever-laughing Experiences, There Are None Like Those Which Spring From True Religion.

John Wesley Quaintly Observed That The Road To Heaven Is A Narrow Path, Not Intended For Wheels, And That To Ride In A Coach Here And To Go To Heaven Hereafter, Was A Happiness Too Much For Man.

To The Covetous Man Life Is A Nightmare, And God Lets Him Wrestle With It As Best He May.