Monday, November 16, 2015

Tongues

I have come to believe in the gift of tongues, not a sudden, miraculous ability to speak an unknown language. That would not be well for us nor for the people to whom we go. We are ignorant of their customs and dispositions. Our tempers are too unruly and our tongues too swift. Dumbness at first is a blessing to all concerned. But that God does keep His promise, that He gives strength and patience and to our great surprise even pleasure in studying the language, I know. Little by little our ears are unstopped and the tightly tied strings of our tongues are loosened, till almost before we know it, as a child begins to prattle its mother's tongue, we begin to speak the language of the people about us. I want to say here for the encouragement of any who may be hesitating as I was, that it is not so much a question of special gift in language or of a remarkable memory, as of a fairly good ear and a willingness to work and live among the people.

~ William Blair
The Korean Pentecost & The Sufferings Which Followed

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Abide With Me

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free.
Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
 
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

—Hen­ry F. Lyte

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