_Suppose!_
It is a _Song of Suppositions_!
'_Suppose_ the fig tree shall not blossom!'
'_Suppose_ the vine shall bear no fruit!'
'_Suppose_ the labor of the olive shall fail!'
'_Suppose_ the fields shall yield no corn!'
'_Suppose_ the flock shall be cut off from the fold!'
'_Suppose_ there shall be no herd in the stalls!'
'_Suppose! Suppose! Suppose!_'
I very well remember a conversation I once had at Mosgiel with old
Jeanie McNab. Jeanie subsisted on a mixed diet of smiles and songs.
'But, supposing, Jeanie----' I began one day.
'Now don't you have anything to do with _supposings_,' she exclaimed. 'I
know them all. "_Suppose_ I should lose my money!" "_Suppose_ I should
lose my health!" And all the rest. When those _supposings_ come knocking
at your heart, you just slam the door, and bolt it, and don't let any of
them in!'
It was excellent advice; yet the prophet acted on a diametrically
opposite principle. When the _supposings_ came knocking at his door, he
cried 'Come in!' and in they came!
'_Suppose_ the figs are barren!'
'_Suppose_ the vines wither!'
'_Suppose_ the olive fail!'
'_Suppose_ the corn perish!'
'_Suppose_ the sheep starve!'
'_Suppose_ the cattle die!'
The prophet invites them all to come in. They jostle each other as they
throng his little room. He hears all that they have to say, and then he
answers them.
'Whence came all these things?' he demands. 'Whence came the figs and
the vines and the olives, the corn and the flocks and the herds?' And,
having asked this question, he himself proceeds to answer it.
'_HE_ gave them!' he cries triumphantly, '_HE_ gave them! And if they
perish, as you _suppose_, _He_ can as easily replace them! _Therefore
will I rejoice_ _in the Lord and will joy in the God of my salvation!_
It is a small thing to lose the _gifts_ as long as you possess the
_Giver_; the supreme tragedy lies in losing the _Giver_ and retaining
only the _gifts_!'
There is no record as to what the preacher said that Sunday morning at
Twickenham; but some such thoughts as these must have been suggested to
the eager minds of the Pethericks as they listened so attentively. 'The
words took hold upon me mightily!' the father confessed, in a letter to
a friend, long afterwards.