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我要向你的聖殿下拜,為你的慈愛和誠實稱讚你的名;因你使你的話顯為大,過於你所應許的〔或譯:超乎你的名聲〕。 2 I will bow down toward your holy temple and will praise your name for your love and your faithfulness, for you have exalted above all things your name and your word.
我雖行在患難中,你必將我救活;我的仇敵發怒,你必伸手抵擋他們;你的右手也必救我。 7 Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me.
耶和華必成全關乎我的事;耶和華啊,你的慈愛永遠長存!求你不要離棄你手所造的。 8 The LORD will fulfill (his purpose) for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever-- do not abandon the works of your hands.
July 3 "Doth the plowman plow all day to sow? (Isa. 28:24.) OE day in early summer I walked past a beautiful mead own. The grass was as soft and thick and fine as an immense green Oriental rug. In one corner stood a fine old tree, a sanctuary for numberless wild birds; the crisp, sweet air was full of their happy songs. Two cows lay in the shade, the very picture of content. Down by the roadside the saucy dandelion mingled his gold with the royal purple of the wild violet. I leaned against the fence for a long time, feasting my hungry eyes, and thinking in my soul that God never made a fairer spot than my lovely meadow. The next day I passed that way again, and lo! the hand of the despoiler had been there. A plowman and his great plow, now standing idle in the furrow, had in a day wrought a terrible havoc. Instead of the green grass there was turned up to view the ugly, bare, brown earth; instead of the singing birds there were only a few hens industriously scratching for worms. Gone were the dandelion and the pretty violet. I said in my grief, "How could any one spoil a thing so fair?" Then my eyes were opened by some unseen hand, and I saw a vision, a vision of a field of ripe corn ready for the harvest. I could see the giant, heavily laden stalks in the autumn sun; I could almost hear the music of the wind as it would sweep across the golden tassels. And before I was aware, the brown earth took on a splendor it had not had the day before. Oh, that we might always catch the vision of an abundant harvest, when the great Master Plowman comes, as He often does, and furrows through our very souls, uprooting and turning under that which we thought most fair, and leaving for our torturer gaze only the bare and the unbeautiful. ─Selected. Why should I start at the plough of my Lord, that maketh the deep furrows on my soul? I know He is no idle husbandman, He purposeth a crop. ─Samuel Reutherford.