In my risen Lord I am born into "a living hope," a hope not only vital,
but vitalizing, sending its mystic, vivifying influences through every
highway and by-way of my soul.
In my risen Lord mine is "_an inheritance incorruptible_." It is not
exposed to the gnawing tooth of time. Moth and rust can not impair the
treasure. It will not grow less as I grow old. Its glories are as
invulnerable as my Lord.
In my risen Lord mine is "an inheritance ... _undefiled_." There is no
alloy in the fine gold. The King will give me of His best. "Bring forth
the best robe, and put it on him." The holiest ideal proclaims my
possibility, and foretells my ultimate attainment. Heaven's wine is not to
be mixed with water. I am to awake "in His likeness."
And mine is "an inheritance ... that _fadeth not away_." It shall not be
as the garlands offered by men--green to-day and to-morrow sere and
yellow. "Its leaf also shall not wither." It shall always retain its
freshness, and shall offer me a continually fresh delight. And these are
all mine in Him!
"Thou, O Christ, art all I want."